The Exiled Queen
by lost.to.literature
Summary: *THE CRUEL PRINCE* Read A Night With the High King first. Takes place right after The Wicked King! Exiled to the mortal world, Jude begins to lose hope of returning to Elfhame. And revenge is not the only thing she seeks, she will stop at nothing to get back what she has earned. All characters and direct quotes belong to Holly Black. Cover art:@darkandbeautifulart w/permission.
1. Prologue

_AN: Read A NIGHT WITH THE HIGH KING first, this follows after ;)_

_Prologue_

I am unsure of what haunts me more as I lay here night after night in my little brother's room in Heather and Vivi's cramped apartment in the mortal world: The night I slept with Cardan. Or when we awoke the next day and he exiled me and then mocked and humiliated me in front of half the court and the queen of the Undersea.

Or perhaps-my own mortal stupidity.

I anguish at the thought that it is as if I am still the Queen of Mirth...am I not?

I vaguely am aware of Oak and Vivi's stirring in the morning as Vivi helps ready him for school. They are kind enough to speak in whispers and not draw open the curtains so that I may sleep. I struggle to adjust in keeping mortal hours and often end up not sleeping at all during the dark hours and then sleeping only once the sun rises. Often times not waking until Oak has returned from school.

Except for today. Vivi returns from walking Oak to school-glamoured as human and carrying some type of superhero backpack-to find me slumped beside the toilet and the wall of the tiny bathroom. I have wretched and wretched until nothing but froth comes up from the pit of my stomach.

And I am sitting here _not _in dismay at my current misery but instead am musing over the clever convenience I find in a mortal bathroom. One of the only things I distinctly remember from my time here before Madoc took us away to Elfhame. _How clever these toilets, much more favorable over chamber pots_, I think to myself. My eyes slide over to the sink and the shower, _how clever the plumbing_, hot water at your command.

But of course if I actually were folk I could enchant the water in my basin to heat as Tatterfell could...There are many disadvantages to living in Faerie as a mere mortal: not possessing any magic for one. These are the ridiculous musings I consider through my dizzying discomfort.

I am still frustrated over all the suffering I endured of my mithridatism for nothing, the tolerance I had built up in my system now wasted in pains of withdrawals. I shudder at the hells at which I suffered under Orlagh's capture beneath the sea.

I have spent nearly each day like this but have mostly been able to keep my suffering to myself until now. In one distraught and shamefully embarrassing moment of desperation, I briefly considered combing the wood near Vivi's apartment in hopes I could find blusher mushroom, maybe even wraithberry here in the mortal world-it _may _be possible to find. Definitely not any faerie fruit though. I thought surely if I could just get the smallest doses of the poisons I had been taking back into my system I would feel better.

Vivienne comes to a stop when she spots me here on the tiled floor, her face frozen in a look of surprise or horror or something in between. "You are still ill..." She mostly says rhetorically.

I wasn't in the most healthiest state when I first arrived at her doorstep: a sodden, dejected, and defeated mess, still thin and wrought by Orlagh's relentless torments. Vivi attempted to nurse me back to health in the weeks following. Which mostly consisted of what she called _trash TV _and greasy, heavy foods and sweets. Which I quickly realized were favorites of hers and _not_ mine.

She helps me up and urges me to the room I share with Oak, I sit on the edge of the bed kicking Oak's discarded pajamas out of the way and a few scattered toys. Vivi offers me a glass of water. Her gaze settles on me in an uncomfortably calculating manner, she nibbles at a fingernail-a habit that started after Heather left, "Jude...did you sleep with Cardan?"

I choke on the water, it dribbles down my chin. And quickly becomes my feigned distraction from having to reply. _What_?

"I know you and Cardan exchanged vows as you've told me, but was it also in earnest? Was the night before your exile the only time?"

"In _earnest_?"

"Jude. You know what I mean. I just refuse to use that ridiculous faerie term."

_The vows must be bound by consummation_, Cardan's voice echoes through my head. The wound of his betrayal and my shame is still so fresh my grip tightens on the glass cup in my hand. I straighten my back and try to compose myself.

But Vivienne sidles up next to me and knocks her shoulder against mine with a small empathetic smile and the comfort of her gesture softens my resolve. "I could kill him for you but I wouldn't want to take that from you." She says lightheartedly.

I lean my head against her pointed fur-tipped ear. I'm not one to cry, mostly there's just some tears and maybe even a sob. General's daughters who desire and train for knighthood do not cry. Vivi knows that and so we just sit quietly together in companionable silence.

_Why couldn't it have been me who was Madoc's true daughter, why couldn't I have been born half Faerie when it's Vivi who'd prefer to be human? _I draw back from her and smudge my hands over my face. Looking up into her cat like eyes, Madoc's eyes, I ask her, "Why did you ask me if Cardan and I...if we..._slept together_?"

"We weren't exactly raised here amongst humans but I've spent more time here than you. And I've also spent a considerable amount of time in front of the television and well...I've learned a lot and…" she turns to me and looks into my eyes, "I think that you might be _pregnant_."

I pull back from her and scoff, "Don't be ridiculous, Vivienne! Those things take years."

Vivi stands then and paces between the bed and the dresser, she chews her thumb nail again, ignoring my outburst. "Time passes differently in Faerie but you've been here for how many weeks now? Over a month, surely? And I know how fertile you mortal girls are with living with you and Taryn. And...Heather." Her voice catches at Heather's name. Heather has still not returned any of Vivi's calls after finding out that Vivi glamoured her to forget Taryn and Locke's wedding and that disaster. "Have you had one of those monthly cycles since you've been here? What about the time before that? After the Undersea or before?"

She pauses in front of me, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know...My time as Orlagh's prisoner was...time was different, I was at my breaking point, I remember being so cold." I suppress a shudder, trying not to allow those tormenting memories from the Undersea resurface. "And I don't know much about these things. You really think it's possible?" I feel my face heat in a blush. Images of Cardan and I alone in the quiet of his room flash through my mind. I stand up quickly and fuss with the peculiar window coverings-white horizontal slats that can open and close by a plastic stick.

"I can't believe this either." Vivienne shrugs, "Pregnancies tend to be so rare in the folk. Oriana has never carried in the ten years she has been married to Madoc. But I guess I just didn't really consider the fact that you and Taryn...well—"

"What? That we humans breed like rabbits? Goodness, Vivi! And I'm not surprised about Oriana, I highly doubt they even...I mean they don't even share a room—"

"Ugh, stop. I can not think of Madoc and Oriana like this."

We both laugh but quickly compose ourselves and the room falls silent. My mind wanders. Suddenly Vivi sighs, "I know that look. You are scheming! Tell me what is going on inside your head."

"If it is really true, if I really am, you know," I gesture toward my midsection not wanting to say _that _word aloud, "...what could this mean for me?" I feel my face flush again, these words too foreign to me. I never once thought I could be in this type of situation, especially with Cardan. I hadn't ever thought that far ahead, I've always been so focused on my sword training and what that could bring me. I never really contemplated marriage...or _children_.

And I had gotten so far.. More than my dream of knighthood. A seneschal. A queen.

An _exiled_ queen.

And quite possibly carrying an heir of the high king.

Vivi starts rambling on affectionately about things in the human world that I don't care for like she does-something about corner stores, and a device that uses your _urine_ to tell you if you are pregnant or not. And how she'll glamour more leaves as money so we can buy one. I only nod noncommittally. I don't have the energy for this conversation any longer. I have too much I need to process. My mind becomes a briar of dizzying thoughts.

But I know this for certain: I will get back what I have earned.


	2. Chapter 1

_Almost a year later_

Vivi, Oak and I sit at the table in the small, cramped kitchen. Vivi and Oak happily eating pizza off plates made from paper. Oak's little legs swing contentedly back and forth from his chair. Vivi reaches for her third helping; pizza is decidedly their favorite among the unfamiliar foods here, I notice. I pick at a salad, not interested in the sloppy, greasy looking meal. I miss the cooks at home and Tatterfell too, I think as I glance around the untidy apartment.

I didn't realize how spoiled I had become having been raised in Elfhame as Gentry. There are no cooks or servants here in Vivi's home. No one to draw me a bath-lushly scented with crushed flowers and herbs-no one to launder my clothes and make my bed. There is also no fresh baked breads and meals of rare, dripping meats topped with sweet-tarte berries served to be served.

And the nights are for sleeping. And are not sultry and warm with the seductive scent of everapple blossoms. The trees don't dance with the sparkling glimmer of sprites and I can't hear the rhythmic sound of Orlagh's sea crashing against the shores of the isles. I sigh.

I am homesick.

Oak was asleep the night Vivi left and came back with a small rectangular box for me, shoving me into the bathroom with her and shutting the door. Two dark-pink lines came into view nearly immediately, _"It says to wait up to 3 minutes for the results but yours showed up right away." Vivienne marveled._

_"What does that mean?"_

_"It means you are definitely pregnant, Jude. Very pregnant." _

But that was months and months ago. Months and months and here I am still in exile. Forbidden from my home and trapped in the mortal world. Except it's not just me now. And now I can never go back.

Not without putting Auron and Virion in danger.

I glance down to where my twin sons, only a few weeks old, lie side by side, swaddled in muslin cloth in a basket at my feet. They fuss and wail if we separate them and I wonder if Taryn and I were the same. Funny how we could grow so far apart. I worry about the boys growing to hate each other one day, when now they cannot even sleep unless they're bundled up together as one.

Sometimes when I close my eyes I see flashbacks, snippets of their birth. The horrors of laboring. Vivi calls it post-trauma something or other. She still tries to persuade me into mortal medicine but I refuse. Mortal medicine and hospitals terrify me. And I do not want to take the risk of anyone knowing about the twins. Vivi can only glamour so many people to forget.

We had found a midwife who attends home births and does the monthly care checks in-home as well. The less people who know where we are the better, and the less people Vivi has to glamour the better. I felt much safer with the private care of the midwife and Vivienne felt much more contented that I was receiving care and also that she did not have to help with the birth alone-which she affectionately said was, "_By far the most disgusting and horrifying, yet also, beautiful thing I have ever seen but hope to never see again."_

I agree. It was awful, horrifying _and_ beautiful. And I do not want to ever go through that again. I am still healing, weeks later. And exhausted from the demand of two infants.

Like true faeries, they are night dwellers, although I believe that has more to do simply with infants in general. I find myself awake most nights alternately nursing and diapering and coddling. But sometimes I don't mind lying in bed in the quiet of night with my two little warm bundles tucked into my side, if not for just breathing in their precious smell.

Auron was born first. The midwife pulled him from my womb and lay him, slick with blood and I did not care what else, right onto my bare chest, "_Skin to skin right after birth is very important, it helps baby regulate their temperature and learn your scent," _She had said. She then rubbed his back vigorously with a large rectangle of fabric until finally he let out a gurgling cry and then another.

Vivienne and I marveled at the small creature I had made. A wisp of dark hair, a slight point to the ears and-Vivi quickly draped a blanket over him, our eyes locked-he was definitely half-faerie. And most definitely of Cardan's sire: at the base of Auron's spine was a small, extra nub of skin.

Vivi suppressed a laugh and I shot her a look. "_What? It's cute!_," she amended.

I tried to push thoughts of Cardan out of my mind. Even though I was lying here holding his newly born son. His first born son. An heir to the crown. And about to have another. The pains started again. The midwife bundled Auron up and passed him to Vivi. And ten minutes later, Virion was born. Completely identical to his brother from pointed ear to tail.


	3. Chapter 2

I had never let Auron and Virion out of my sight-or Vivienne's or Oak's if necessary. I have made Vivi move us three times in the year that I've been here. I did not want Cardan to find out about the twins. Or Madoc. Or anyone from the land of Faerie. I was afraid of them being used as pawns against Cardan, or caught in the crossfires, or what lengths Cardan might go to in order to keep them a secret.

And I was right to have worried.

Vivienne finds me out on the small balcony of the apartment. We are three stories high and the balcony faces the woods. A bitter autumn wind has chilled my nose but the air is scented with woodsmoke and dampened moss, it reminds me of home. Large, dry maple leaves blow across my feet, gold and red and brown; the trees are so overgrown I could reach out and grab one of the branches if I wanted to.

But I don't want to. I don't want to do much of anything anymore. But sit here on this balcony and wait. And watch the woods. Watch for _him. _Watch for one of _them. _It is all I seem to be able to do at all. It is what I should've done before it was too late.

I was naive to think we'd be safe. To think that Auron and Virion would be safe.

This is the way they came in. Right here through these trees, right here through this balcony. Thieves in the night, no locked door a feat to their skills or encorcellments. And while we slept my children were stolen away from me. My infant sons.

_As property of the crown, Auron and Virion Greenbriar _

_Have been recovered from the mortal world and returned to Elfhame_

_By order of the High King of Elfhame_

_Cardan Greenbriar_

A small roll of birch parchment was all that I found atop the twins' basket when I awoke. Groggy and disoriented as from a drugged sleep. Was it poison? I can't be glamoured, so either I slept uncharacteristically heavy or it must've been a sleeping draught. And not only for me but Vivi and Oak as well-my cry of outrage did not even rouse them. And they did not wake until after I'd completely exhausted myself thrashing about the apartment in a hysterical fit. I was collapsed in a sodden heap atop the boys' overturned laundry hamper when they came stumbling from their beds in confusion. I remember the look in Vivienne's eyes when realization dawned on her.

I clench my jaw at the swelling pain in my breasts. I haven't nursed the twins in the month that they have been gone from me. Twenty-nine and a half days. My arms feel empty. Our home feels empty. I feel useless. And my heart shatters not knowing who is caring for them now. If there is someone warm and soft to soothe them, someone to lull them to sleep with song, someone to nourish them at her breast as I would.

I think of how Cardan was abandoned by his mother, left to suckle at a mother cat who had lost her litter of kittens. How Cardan was raised with the absence of warm and comforting arms.

I clutch one of Auron and Virion's blankets to my chest now as I watch the woods. The blanket has begun to lose their beautiful scent. Vivienne thinks we should move again. She is worried about Oak being taken next. But I must sit here and wait, wait for a sign of someone, anyone from Faerie. Because we can't leave, we have to stay right here, right here where we were found before, in case a messenger is sent, or Cardan sends for me. For my chance back into Faerieland.

I could miss my only chance.

Vivi reads the worry in my face. She scans the copse of trees, places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and says simply, "We'll get them back."

She is right.

It has been long enough. I am done feeling powerless. I am done _being_ powerless. I want that power back. Power that I had earned_. _And the only way to get my sons back is with a crown. Our vows were real. I know they were, I know Cardan didn't use a faerie trick on me. The land responded. The land knows.

_Marry me, Jude. Marry me marry me marry me..._

I am the Queen of Faerie.

And I am coming for my crown.


	4. Chapter 3

I stand abruptly, my chair would have toppled over but the balcony is so small that it smacks against a wall with a loud thud instead. _I need some air. I need to think. _I march through the apartment, past Oak staring blankly at the flickering television screen and out the door. Groping for Nightfell at my hip as I descend the concrete steps in search of the closest thing that feels like home: the wooded area behind the apartment buildings.

It is time to get my strength back.

_Thwack. _I draw Nightfell in a furious arc over my shoulder and slice away a thin unsuspecting branch of the innocent tree in front of me. I have let so much time pass and still have no plan. But going through training drills calms me and helps me to think clearly. Although the tree doesn't make for the best sparring partner.

_I just need to find a way to get back into Elfhame, _I think, angrily taking another swing at the branch. Taryn betrayed me but maybe she'd be willing to help me if it means I'd forgive her. But I haven't forgiven her. I don't think I can. Not when I'm stuck here and she's there, a Gentry son's wife, in Locke's big beautiful castle of a home, sharing his bed and, "Ugh!" I shout out loud, not caring if I dull my sword by stupidly smacking it against the bark of the tree, but these thoughts are not doing me any good. All I have realized is that I am jealous of Taryn.

And I've gotten weak.

And I still have no plan.

_Perhaps if I could get a message to Grimsen..._My mind wanders as I continue my drills. But I am putting too much emotion into my movements. The jeans that Vivi insists I wear are tight and constricting. And I have tired myself out. I lunge toward a sparse bush, feint left as if it were an opponent and bring Nightfell down hard, expecting to hit nothing but a few leaves. Instead my sword collides with a reverberating clang that knocks me back on unsteady feet.

"Your swordplay and your form have grown weak in your time here, _daughter."_ Madoc stands before me, short-sword drawn and his cat eyes piercing into mine as if he's pinning me down before him with his glare.

He returns his sword to its scabbard, then turns to signal the two guards behind him, one on his left and one on his right. They both leave with a nod, disappearing into the thick of the wood. I notice then how dark it has become and shame heats my face at being caught so unaware.

Madoc regards me in the silence that follows. I never imagined he would find me. I know from experience that he _could _find me, he's done it before when he found my mother hidden away here in the mortal world. _Found her and punished her, _I think with a shudder. But I didn't think that Madoc would have a reason to seek _me_ out. I manage to mumble an acknowledgement, "Madoc."

"I can admit that I admire what I have learned from you. And yet you surprise me still." Madoc circles me slowly, hands clasped at his back, an intimidation tactic.

"Why are you here?"

"Don't you see, Jude? I have vowed to never underestimate you again. So when I began to hear rumor of your shameful exile-good move with Balekin, by the by, you took care of that obstacle for me-I also learned that you were quite the laughing stock that day." He stops in front of me and shakes his head with an admonishing _tsk_. "Claiming to be the Queen of Faerie, ha! What a fool everyone thought you to be. Everyone. But. Me."

I inhale sharply and my eyes prick with the exertion it takes to keep a straight face. Madoc sees through my bluff. He laughs again, clearly impressed or perhaps delighted by my deceit.

"My clever, clever daughter Jude. The plain and poor orphaned mortal child, stolen away to Faerieland by a war-hungry general. You have paid much more attention to my lectures of strategy than I thought. Well played, _my Queen."_

In a panic, I glance over Madoc's shoulder toward the buildings of the apartment, suddenly fearful of Vivi and Oak's safety. I only saw the two guards but I am smarter than to believe that. Of course there would be more. Of course he already has Oak stolen away. Madoc smiles satisfactorily. He knows what I'm thinking. And by his arrogance I know that what I feared most has already come into play. I couldn't protect my brother and sister. Just like I couldn't protect my own sons. All I can do now is appeal to Maddoc, "What do you want?"

He laughs again. Haughty and arrogant. His eyes alight with the hunger he longs for-war, schemes, power. He's pleased with himself for finally getting a step ahead of me, his assumptions of me were correct. My mind races over the possibilities of Madoc's intentions- If he does have Oak...why is he still here?

"I came to offer you my assistance," Madoc begins, he feigns offense when I scoff, brows raised and a hand placed over his heart. He leans down to speak next to my ear, "I know you well, daughter. And I know you want your revenge. _I _can get you into Elfhame. And from there, I believe we both shall be delighted to see what it is the Queen of Faerie can do."

Madoc leans back then, smug by what he reads in my expression. He begins to pace leisurely in front of me, letting his words sink in while he pretends to be amused by the foreign foliage of the mortal world. I watch him idly although my pulse races in time with my mind. _He doesn't know about Auron and Virion, _I realize. Does that mean Cardan has kept them in secret?

"Take the bargain, Jude. You truly have nothing left to lose."

"But I am just a mortal girl. I have never possessed the magic of the folk before, so then is it not true that there would be no magic in me as queen? And what good am I to you then? I can't help you take on Cardan. Especially for a cause I don't believe in!

"You would leave Cardan on his throne, where you put him, while you have been stripped of your title and living in filth in exile? You have come so far, Jude, are you really willing to admit defeat now?"

I sink down to my knees, suddenly exhausted and overwhelmed. Night has fallen and with it a cold that creeps along the forest floor. I've been left anguising over feelings of defeat for weeks upon weeks. But. Madoc is right. This is my chance, finally after all this time, a chance to get back into Elfhame, to get my sons back.

He removes his black and gold stitched jacket, a general's jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. I say nothing as he crouches beside me, no matter what has transpired between us, no matter that he is my parents' murderer, he is still a father to me.

Madoc may have a plan. But I am already one step ahead of him.

Because, I have a secret.


	5. Chapter 4

Madoc refused to go over the details of his plan until we were back in Faerie. I agreed. Although we both knew I didn't really have a choice. As well, I was greedy for the chance to come home, almost desperate enough to not care about the hows and whys. I didn't even look back. I took Madoc's hand allowing him to help me to my feet and marched away. Leaving Vivi's precious human world behind without even a second thought.

When we arrive at Madoc's secret stronghold in the Unseelie lands Madoc urges me off the back of a silver-shod steed in such a rush that I tumble down to my hands and knees, scraping my palms on the graveled path. A tiny sprout springs forth beneath my hand. But before I can even comprehend what happened Madoc pulls me up, he glances right and left, eyes flashing fiercely in the dark and then leads me quickly inside

I've never been to the Unseelie lands, I've only ever heard tales. It unnerves me being here. Madoc is a traitor to the crown. Stole half of the guard and is unsworn. And me having been exiled and found here and with Madoc is treason. _Let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life_. Lord Roibon may have accepted Madoc despite his treachery against his own king, but I have no place here. Not without a pardon.

This stronghold is modest in size compared to our home in Elfhame. Still it is stunning and large. All stone and turrets and thick wooden beams. Each fireplace is either lit or smoldering in the rooms we pass. I don't see anyone else and I hope that if Madoc did have Oak taken back to Faerie that he is safe with Oriana somewhere here in the house.

Madoc leads me down a dark set of stairs until we arrive at his study. Gnarbone is summoned immediately and returns soon after with a kettle of tea and oatcakes with honey and pomegranate jam. I don't bother with formalities at the welcomed sight of the foods I so dearly missed. And I nearly scorch my mouth with the steaming liquid but I don't mind. I reach for an oatcake, drag it through honey and jam, and stuff it into my mouth.

The night has been exhausting; an adrenalin rush of fear, excitement and challenge. It feels too surreal being here. Something I've been longing and planning for now for so long that I'm finding it hard to believe has actually happened. It seems more like a dream than reality.

Finally with the comfort of hot tea and sustenance I begin to relax. I set my cup back onto the tray after having refilled it three times and brush my hands down the front of my T-shirt-Heather's T-shirt-and wince at the scrapes on my palms. I recall the bright green sprout that grew at my touch and my pulse quickens. _The land knows._ _The land knows its queen has returned._ Memories then, of another time the land responded with blooms play in my mind. I feel a blush creep down my neck but I quickly squash those feelings down by recalling Cardan mocking me in front of court.

"All right, _father,_" I stand abruptly, now pulsing with renewed anger toward Cardan, "we are here now, let's hear this plan of yours. And let's start at the part where you convince me that once you get what you want out of this-another chance at putting Oak on the throne, I presume-you won't just cast me aside. So what is your bargain?"

"While I am impressed that you have gone and made yourself _Queen of Faerie," _Madoc begins, standing as well and clearing his throat for effect, "we both know that, as a mere mortal and one already in ill-favor, you won't be...shall we say, well received. Especially after we move against Cardan for the crown. So the obvious choice is to set all that aside and put Oak in his rightful place. I, in return swear to not discard of you." He places a heavy hand on my shoulder and levels his gaze with mine, "I will make you General in my stead as I will become regent. This is what you've worked so hard for. Your dream of knighthood is nigh and better yet-as General you will have the entire guard to command."

Madoc is beaming at me, smug with what he believes is his brilliance. I try to hide the disappointment I feel. I knew I would be sacrificing something to return to Elfhame, to get my revenge and face Cardan, but hearing it out loud is difficult. I was Seneschal. Made Queen. To then step down into the role of a General feels...lesser than I truly am. But I would be able to keep the twins safe and reside in the palace with them. And I will get my revenge on Cardan…

But it's still not good enough.

I return Madoc's smile. A silent assent. Our bargain is made. I've been warned in my ten years in Faerie to never make bargains with the folk, but I am the one who can lie. The folk should be warned to never make bargains with me.

Madoc tosses a knapsack on the seat beside me and gestures to it, "First let us do away with these mortal clothes. Put that on and burn everything that you came here with."

I stare blankly at Madoc's retreating back as he leaves the room, still in disbelief that I am truly here; back in Faerie. _Home. _And where I belong. In the knapsack I find a dress, one of Taryn's dresses I quickly realize, a dark green velvet trimmed in gold with matching silk slippers and a thick black cloak. I gladly strip out of Heather's borrowed clothes-I didn't like them in the first place. I don't hesitate before I toss them into the roaring flames and I don't watch for the fire to consume them. I have now closed the door to that small part of me forever. There is nothing for me in the mortal world. No sentiments. It is just a place where I came from, but not what has made me who I am. I may be a mortal but I am of _Faerie_.

In one of the slippers I find a small satchel. I pour the contents into my lap to stare with alarm at Taryn's silver moon and star earrings. There is also a long silver necklace I do not recognize, a simple charm of a sunburst dangles from its center, and a few hair pins. My hand trembles. _Oh Madoc what have you done with Taryn?_

When Madoc returns I am rife with anger, I lunge at him, a blade against his throat before he even registers what has happened, "What have you done with Taryn!" I demand viciously. He swiftly maneuvers out of my hold on him. It isn't easy to best the one who taught you. His eyes dance with amusement. _But not impossible, _I think recalling the night I dosed him with just enough poison to render him unconscious for a few hours. I am angered at how calm he is while I am struggling to restrain myself.

He clears his throat and straightens his jacket as he crosses the room leisurely. "Let us discuss this plan of mine now that our _pleasantries_ are over," He gestures to our seats beside his war table with a stern look of annoyance. "I promised you that I could get you into Elfhame. And this is where Taryn comes in-calm yourself, I can assure you she has not been harmed-Taryn has helped me do this once before, although this time, it was imperative she remain..._unaware_."

"Tell me where Taryn is and what you have done with her!"

"Why, Taryn is right here before me. I am speaking with her now. Do you understand, daughter?" He narrows his gaze at me until he sees the realization light my eyes.

"We're to trade places...like the night you betrayed Cardan."

"Indeed. You will be Taryn, in Elfhame, hiding in plain sight while we track down Grimsen. And Taryn will be safely out of the way under Vivienne's watch in the mortal world."

"How did you get Taryn and Vivi to agree with this? Vivi would never allow you to bring Oak back to Faerie."

Madoc leans back into his chair, a coy smile plays at his mouth, "Vivienne took some rather extensive bargaining and Taryn only needed a simple..._glamouring_."

"You glamoured her!" I stand abruptly and pace in front of the roaring heat of the fireplace. I am appalled. Madoc may be many things and may have done some terrible things in the past when it came to Taryn and I, but he has not ever _glamoured_ us.

"It is harmless, Jude. Taryn believes she is you and will stay with Vivienne just as you were. For the watch Cardan has on you, nothing will seem amiss. It's quite brilliant, can you not agree?"

Once again he is right. I return to the chair in front of him and he nods satisfactorily. "Now that you will be safely in Elfhame, we will be able to seek out Grimsen and coerce him into finishing the crown he was meant to forge for Balekin. And then you will rise up as the true queen of Faerie at my side against that drunken fool _husband _of yours. We will give him no choice but to abdicate to Oak. We have the element of surprise on our side and I remain quite optimistic."

Madoc stands and collects Taryn's cloak from the back of my chair. I turn and let him drape it over my shoulders and fasten the clasp at my throat as if I am still but a child. We pass back through the house silently and out to the stables where we each mount a ragwort steed that has been readied for us.

But before he leads us out he turns to me with a serious expression that causes my stomach to drop, "You have a role to play here. And I will escort you home just as any father would after a daughter pays a visit with her family." He fixes his eyes on mine intently and doesn't move until he reads the comprehension in my expression.

We ride across the sky, over Orlagh's sea and to the island of Insmire, my mind numbly focused on the fact that I am truly here. I'm closer than I've ever been to my sons since they've been taken from me. And my revenge is so near, that despite thundering uncomfortably over the uneven path of the crooked forest on horseback, I find myself almost euphoric. Relaxed in a way I have not permitted myself to be in too, too long.

Finally Madoc bids me goodnight at the steps of Locke's estate. The tower looms above, casting us in shadow of the fading moon's light. It is quiet and dark and ominous. "You will play this role well, Jude. No matter the cost." He commands in a low voice before leaving me without remorse.

I watch as Madoc mounts his steed and coaxes mine to follow him back toward the crooked forest. And when I can see him no longer I close my eyes to the gentle blow of the wind that washes the sea air over me. _I am here, I am home, I am finally in Elfhame._

I turn and face the solitary stone fortress of a house. The walls smell of dampened moss and earth. Vines have grown down over the arch of the wooden door. It must not be a well used entrance. I reach up on the tips of my toes to pull them away, snapping them in half once in my grasp, and toss them aside. But as soon as I reach for the latch, one single vine stretches toward me, slowly snaking along the door frame and then stops. I release the latch, eyes locked on the vines in disbelief. _The High King is tied to the land. _My stomach twists with unease as a cacophony of thoughts plague my mind. But only three stand out the most:

_Taryn is married to Locke._

_I am to be Taryn. _

_And how soon can we get that crown from Grimsen?_


	6. Chapter 5

It is nearing dawn when I push through the doors around the side of Locke's estate that lead to the kitchen. I don't know what to expect. Locke has several folk in his service and it's possible they would be awake at this hour. But there are no candles lit in the kitchen and the stones of the hearth are cold; an evening meal has not been cooked. Which means the masters of the house have most likely not been home for the entirety of the night.

Which also means Locke is not here. Not _yet_. A panic begins to spread through me. I have had no time to prepare for this and now I am unsure if I can play at being Taryn _no matter the cost,_ as Madoc had said. I was so focused on having finally found my way back into Elfhame that I fear I have plunged into something far deeper than I expected.

I wander through the grand yet bleak halls and rooms by the earliest of morning light. Exhaustion hits. I have now been awake all night, which oddly I am now _unacustomed _to. Apprehensively, I climb a narrow staircase tucked in the back of the house and make my way by memory to Locke's bedroom.

_I've slept here before, _I think to myself now standing in the doorway to Locke's expansive rooms and regarding his empty bed. It's possible that Taryn keeps her own rooms. I don't know about the intimate parts of marriage or what is customary in Faerie, if it differs from the mortal world or not. I know Oriana and Madoc kept their own rooms. And I know that once Locke liked for me to sleep beside him. Cardan too. _I will lie down...if you will lie with me..._Cardan's voice echoes through my mind. I ignore it.

I step in further and soundlessly shut the door behind me. The room is dark, shadowed by what little light streams in by the parted drapes but I can still see that it is neat, the bed made. It did not look this way when I had been here last. I remember it being in quite a state of disarray. I quickly ascertain Taryn's side by the matching silver comb and mirror and hairpins that lay on a bedside table. I light a small candle I find there amongst my sister's things and stare into the flickering flame for a long moment, feeling suddenly more than completely uncomfortable.

I glare at Locke's pillow on the opposite side of the bed and then rifle through a wardrobe for one of Taryn's nightgowns. _I am beyond tired yet I am very awake_, I think as I climb beneath the tapestries, blow out the candle and lie down in this bed that is not mine and I do not want to be in at all. Not alone and especially not when-

"Oh no. No no no no..." I whisper into the dark, pulling the blankets up high on my shoulder as I hear footsteps on the stairs and approaching the hall. It's Locke. He's home. He's come home. To his wife. To Taryn.

Except I'm not Taryn.

But he doesn't know that.

But _I_ do.

I'm panicking beneath the covers and trying to slow my breathing and feign sleep. I focus on thoughts of the twins. How doing this now is what it will take to help me get them back. My only chance. And how despite the completely odd ridiculousness of being here in this moment, in Taryn and Locke's bed, is far more productive toward any of my plans at revenge than what I was doing just hours ago; sitting on a balcony watching trees with a sword across my lap.

Locke stumbles into the room loudly and shuts the door behind him not too quietly. With a sigh he flops down at the foot of the bed and I hear his boots fall softly to the wood floor. I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear him cross the room and draw closed the heavy curtains. I try not to flinch when finally he slips in beside me and I feel his bare legs brush mine under the sheets. And I visualize Cardan and my crown for strength when Locke turns toward me and his hand skims over my hip and pulls me against him. Maybe...maybe I will just give it one day and one night. Maybe that will be enough time and then I will tell Madoc we must find another way-one that doesn't involve glamouring family or lying beside Taryn's husband in bed. But for now there is nothing I can do but play along.

He smells of faerie wine, spices and damp night air. I wonder at where he's been and think of Taryn. Does she spend her nights alone or in the forgotten background as Locke thoroughly entertains himself on wines and faerie dust or worse. It is obvious that they share a bed but does he treat her well?

Thankfully he falls asleep soon after. I'm assuming mostly due to the obvious level of his inebriation. When his breathing becomes deep and rhythmic I slide out of his arms and scoot to the very edge of the bed. And I try to sleep, thinking of my sisters in the human realm-and Oak locked away and treated like nothing more than Madoc's pawn.

I wake to Locke's stirring at sunset and quietly leave the room before he wakes fully, shuddering at the thought of him reaching out to touch me again. If it wasn't for my exhaustion from having been awake the entire night before, I surely would not have slept at all in such an awkward place.

"Evening, Mistress. I can draw your bath now, if you'd like?" I bump into a long-limbed imp with branch-like hands in the hall with a thankful sigh. I didn't want to be caught wandering around the house and pantry and cabinets like the stranger I truly am. I school my demeanor into what I feel is more Taryn and less..._me_ and agree; the need to cleanse myself of Locke currently stronger than my need to make contact with Grimsen.

The imp whose name I do not know leaves a tray with tea beside a fragrant steaming bath and a clean dress. I latch the door and use the basin before undressing and slipping down into the hot water all the way to my chin. I allow myself these few minutes of well deserved indulgence. It feels ridiculous considering, but one thing I know for certain: I do not feel guilty about how I got here. I am elated that, finally, after months of exile and failed plans, and the abduction of my infant sons, I _am_ here.

I dress myself and try to arrange my hair in the way that Taryn usually favors without the help of the maid and I make my way down the back staircase unnoticed. There, I pause on the last step and flatten my back against the wall and listen. I can hear shuffling in the kitchens, servants, cooks. And heavier footsteps retreating down a hall. Locke perhaps. Quickly I dash through the servers corridor and duck into the kitchen.

But Taryn's maid is standing over a steaming cauldron beside the stone hearths lathering what appears to be a set of sheets on a washboard with a thick rectangle of soap. I startle her and I chide myself for being so conspicuous, forgetting I am mistress of the house and should be walking about with purpose. I begin to make some sort of excuse but I hear Locke's voice echo through the hall and panic. My plan was to leave as soon as I could without being seen and somehow make contact with the Court of Shadows. Which means I would have to find my way into the palace. Which also means I currently have absolutely no plan on how to achieve that.

"Taryn?"

Too late. I pause at the last stone step which leads into the back garden. My head is spinning through the possible different scenarios of this exact encounter I've been trying to avoid. But rather than arrive at a clever excuse, my attention is captivated by the infestation of sprites that alight a tall pine tree in a shimmering glow-another thing that I missed dearly while in exile. It is a truly stunning sight. I inhale deeply, the night is cool and heavily scented by everapple blossoms, and I turn and face Taryn's husband.

"Why are you not dressed for the banquet?" Locke inquires, he takes two long strides toward me and I involuntarily take a stumbling step back. I see a shadow of confusion cross his eyes. Locke is dressed in crisply pressed navy trousers, tucked into black leather boots just below the knee, and a gold threaded tunic beneath a velvet doublet. His tawny hair appears damp and is combed to one side and long enough to just barely cover the tips of his pointed ears.

"Banquet?" I reply before I can think. Then groan internally at my continued failures at pretending to be my twin.

Locke stands before me, levels his eyes with mine and takes my hand, "Are you not well? Berylstone said you did not take your elixir when you awoke and that you did not let her dress you. I know you've been looking forward to tonight and I do not want for your illness to hinder your enjoyment. Come, let's have Berylstone tend to you now and perhaps we won't be too late." He leads me gently back through the kitchen and toward the grand staircase where he passes me off to the maid and I'm beginning to feel like a fragile doll. _What illness? And what is this elixir Locke mentioned? _I begin to fear he may have had Taryn under a glamour as I'm led by the arm back up to Taryn and Locke's rooms.

Berylstone sits me at Taryn's vanity and turns to rifle through a large wardrobe. A knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts and I watch as a goblin with rough, swampy-green skin places a silver teapot and cup on a matching silver tray in front of me and then retreats without a word. The elixir, I assume.

"Drink up, mistress. You'll be feeling better the sooner you do." I had planned to avoid it but she immediately pours the steaming liquid into the teacup and forces it into my hands. And then proceeds to watch me until I bring it to my mouth for a small, apprehensive sip. I tastes and looks like nothing more than a floral tea. I take another drink and she huffs an approval before turning her attention back to the wardrobe, the ridges of her knobby spine poke against her dress and apron. She pulls out a pale gold gossamer gown that I can see purposely compliments Locke's attire. It is beautiful and shimmers in the candle light but I don't have time to care about simple things such as fine dresses. I finish the tea and wait to feel some sort of change but I feel the same.

With surprising quickness Berylstone has me ready, for what type of party that Taryn would actually be excited to attend, I wouldn't know. But by the formality of our dress, I know for certain that this is a court affair. I am standing in front of a tall gilt frame mirror as Berylstone fastens a velvet cloak at my throat. My mind is too busy with the realization of what tonight could mean to care how I look: for one, this is my chance into the palace, to find the Bomb or whoever I can from the Court of Shadows.

But this means _we're going to the_ _palace_.

Which also means I will see Cardan.

I feel almost faint at the thought and how completely unprepared I am for that. I did not exactly have a plan when Locke caught me at my attempt of sneaking out earlier, but for certain I was _not _going to just waltz through the main doors and make a grand entrance. Not when a side door would do just fine or better yet, one of the secret entrances and tunnels because I knew of each and every one. And seeing Cardan was most definitely _not _part of my plan.

Not yet.

_Marry me, Jude…._

_Jude, did you sleep with Cardan?_

_Marry me marry me marry me_

_There's two lines…_

"Mistress?" Berylstone startles me out of the echo of Cardan's betrayal, and at her prompting I move to join Locke downstairs in the foyer. Locke looks impatient and only gives me a tight smile, takes my arm and leads us out to the awaiting carriage. He signals the driver to take off immediately, before I even have the chance to settle onto the plush velvet bench. I gasp my surprise as the carriage lurches forward slamming me into my seat. I shoot Locke an irritated look.

"Make me late for my best friend's engagement party! The _High King's _engagement party, that is. And _I'm_ the master of revels!" he mutters in exasperation, crossing his arms over his chest and flopping back against the seat across from me like a spoiled child.

_Engagement party? The High King's engagement party?...Cardan is engaged. _I feel myself sway but its not brought on by the gentle rocking of the carriage, "Stop the carriage!" I cry out and throw myself out of the small rounded door just as the drivers urge the two steeds at a stop. And wretch on the ground in an embarrassingly unattractive way. That was rather unexpected. Perhaps it was that tea. But it feels as if Cardan took a sword to my stomach and twisted it.

After, I reach out to steady myself against the trunk of a tree and spit once more, not caring how unladylike it is. Not caring about anything but the fact that I am going to kill Cardan when I see him. Forget anything else I had planned. This is my new plan.


	7. Chapter 6

I am not sure whether it was the swig of the pine liquor from Locke's flask I used to rinse my mouth with or my nerves or my anger that has my head abuzz but I do not feel like making formal pleasantries right now. I do not feel like playing at Taryn-sweet, submissive, backstabbing Taryn.

I want to feel the heavy weight of Nightfell in my hands. I want to run Cardan through and paint the blade of my sword red with his blood.

My jaw is locked, my hands fisted at my sides, nails pressing into my palms and my breath comes quick and shallow as we arrive at the Palace of Elfhame. I glance at Locke as the carriage stops, he hasn't spoken since we left his estate and did and said nothing during, or after my spell, but pass me his flask from his pocket-he is irritated with me, that I know. But I can't help but worry (although I currently hate my twin) that Locke is unkind, cold and distant toward Taryn and his behavior tonight is not unusual for him.

Locke exits the carriage gracefully like the gentry he is and holds out his hand to help me step down. I link my arm in his and take a deep steadying breath as we enter the palace. My pulse quickens the closer we get to court, my blood surging through me fueling me with my rage. I feel jittery and lightheaded while we pass through the crowds of revelers already well into their cups and entertainments: Faerie lords and ladies and pale blue or green tinged pixies, goblins and imps. Some dance elegantly and others sloppily; their lips stained gold, their eyes unfocused. It is apparent we have missed the banquet.

"Won't you dance with me, mortal?" A brown bespeckled girl with long furred ears like a deer reaches out to me as we pass. She grabs my wrist and swings me out of Locke's arm and we spin and spin around until Locke forcefully yanks me to his side. The girl grins maliciously and then laughs at Locke's admonishing glare. The folk beneath Locke's status know it is nearly a crime against the crown to put his mortal wife into the way of harm. But I can see that he lets the incident go judging by the depth of the girl's intoxication.

The crowd parts suddenly, we've inadvertently created a scene and it wasn't just the few folk surrounding us that took notice. I turn abruptly, disheveled; arm hanging limply in Locke's tight grasp, a loose tendril of hair settles across my face.

Cardan is staring at me.

Our eyes lock for an intense moment. My mind flashes through a fury of images, memories, echoes. Emotions. I force the pain of betrayal, to instead, harden into hatred. I _am strong. I am a general's daughter. I will not be weak. Play along. _

Cardan is lounging on a deep red chaise of plush velvet, his tunic-white and trimmed in ruffles-is untied at his throat, gaping enough to reveal more than should be appropriate in this public situation. His eyes are blackened with kohl; and cold and calculating. Dark locks of hair mussed over his crown and a silver goblet dangles loosely from his hand.

My eyes slide over then to Nicasia with disgust. Her blue-green hair is fanned out across Cardan's lap, her long legs sway carelessly over the edge of the lounge. Cardan's bejeweled fingers are laced with Nicasia's and realization strikes me so violently I stumble back against Locke. _Cardan intends to marry Nicasia? _I try to compose myself but jealousy and hatred are strong, fierce emotions and nearly impossible to obscure.

Cardan sees something change in my eyes. He sits up suddenly. And looks at me. _Really_ looks at me. His eyes narrow but Nicasia notices the loss of his attention and sits up to fawn at him. Her hands slip under his shirt, sharp nails drag across his chest as she whispers something to him. His downturned mouth curls in amusement. It sickens me. I turn away. I don't want to see this. I don't trust I can keep my composure. I could kill him right now. Right here in front of the court, the revelers, nearly everyone.

I tug at Locke, trying to steer him away but he doesn't budge. He ignores my attempts at urging him out of the great hall. I know my attempt is useless, we cannot dishonor the High King. We approach Cardan.

_Not yet Not now_, I chant to myself, heart pounding against my chest. _Be smart Play along. _

Locke bends a knee to Cardan and I quickly duck my head and do the same. His eyes skip over me now, as if I'm nothing; merely Locke's plaything. I'm not surprised Cardan allows Taryn at court after she and Madoc worked together to deceive him. Even if he lost half his guard because of her. I'm certain that Locke used his sway with him to encourage Taryn's pardon.

A goblin with thick, cracked skin like the bark of a tree quickly supplies Locke with a silver goblet much like Cardan's, filled nearly to the top with faerie wine. Locke, ever raised a gentry lord, sips at the drink almost delicately as he falls into conversation with Cardan and Colm, another gentry son, who I recognized from our days at school. I assume he has taken Valerian's place in Cardan's inner circle.

I stand awkwardly off to the side. Feigning interest in a loose thread at my wrist. While in complete silent agony of maintaining my emotions and my composure. On the inside I am simmering with anger and frustration. And the blinding desire for vengeance.

Suddenly without even a glance in my direction Cardan, Locke and Colm slip behind a heavy tapestry on the wall behind the chaise and disappear into one of the palace's hidden chambers. Leaving Nicasia and three other faeries behind, two pixie girls and one boy with willowy hair like down and delicate white wings. But they don't seem to care, instead they take it as their queue to find their entertainment elsewhere. Except Nicasia, who sets her chin defiantly and follows after Cardan.

Having lived here before as seneschal, I mostly know what goes on in the private rooms at parties and revels and such-which means I won't be seeing Locke for quite some time and by then he'll be heavily intoxicated and not care where I am or where I've been. Or that I was even gone at all.

I seize the opportunity to slip away into the throng of the folk deep into their celebration. I can't help but smile at my luck. How easy it was for me to gain entrance at court and mill about as if I were simply one of the mortals residing in Faerie. Under the protection of the High King by a well matched marriage. And not _Jude_: humiliated and exiled.

I am starting to enjoy being my sister's imposter.


	8. Chapter 7

As quietly as possible I emerge blindly from the passageway, nonchalantly closing the narrow door behind me, and startle the Roach. The lair of the Court of Shadows is dimly lit and smells of cool, damp earth. I trail my hand along the crumbling dirt wall for guidance as my eyes adjust from the complete darkness of the tunnels I just felt my way through.

I feel something I haven't felt in a long time: excitement.

The Roach is sitting at the crudely carved wooden table that occupies most of the den-like main room. Only one of the wall lanterns are lit, the archways into the other rooms are dark. Except for a small glow flickering from beneath the door to the office. A half empty bottle of wine rests beside him, a few empty bottles lay on their sides at his booted feet, and he's shuffling cards alone.

It feels almost as if I've stepped backwards through time. I can't help but grin.

The Roach tries to act as if I hadn't actually surprised him. He merely glances at me, expression flat and continues rearranging the cards. "Would that you were Taryn, down here, happening upon about the Court of Shadows. Only that it is of no knowledge to anyone but its members...save for his royal highness." He looks up at me then, half his face in shadow, and returns my grin, "Hello, Jude."

"What're you blabbering on about out there, Roach? I think it's time I cut you off." We both turn in the direction of the Bomb's disembodied voice.

"The _Queen_ has graced us with her presence." The Roach calls back.

There's a loud scrape of a chair across the stone floor. Coming from what sounds like the office-which explains why it is the only other room that is lit-followed by swift footsteps and aggravated mumbling. "Definitely going to hide the alcohol now. All of it. Before you really-" The Bomb stops abruptly, mouth agape, and a fluff of white hair floats down over her brow when she sees me. At first it's more of a look of surprise on her face finding someone down here other than the Roach, the Ghost or even Cardan. And then its a look of recognition. And finally _realization_. All in a matter of seconds.

"Tell me where to find Grimsen." I blurt out before the Bomb can even issue a greeting. I'm thrumming with too much energy. A blaring cacophony of emotions. And my composure is wearing too thin; this was all too much at once but I'm trying hard to stay strong. I can admit to myself that I may have gone a bit soft in the mortal world.

"It's definitely Jude." The Bomb comments to the Roach. They share a huff of a laugh. Shaking their heads in disbelief.

A chair is pulled out from the table, the back and legs formed from roughly cut birch. The Bomb gestures for me to sit, the curling bark snags on the fabric of my sleeve but I ignore it. Her small set of wings catch the light in the slightest iridescent glow as she passes the thick pillar candle at the table's center and takes the chair beside the Roach, "You could say hello first. We haven't seen you in nearly an entire year." She grins bemusedly. She isn't offended by my lack of pleasantries. They both know it was by no small means I am here now. And that more than likely I haven't much time. It's not safe for me to be here.

I sit at the table and quickly down the small polished wood cup of honey wine the Roach offers me. He shares glances with the Bomb; a silent communication that I can guess expresses their agreement in my obvious distress. Being paraded around on Locke's arm and brought to Cardan's presence at Court was something I was _not _prepared for. And it must be obvious in my expression. The Roach's long green fingers slide my cup back over to me from across the table. It's been refilled. This time I sip at it.

"I know every move you make here counts. And that you need to act quickly. You took an impressive risk coming back here and I want to hear every detail. But first," The Bomb pauses, she places a dappled brown hand over mine and locks eyes with me, "the princes are safe."

It feels like a knot catches in my throat and I make an awkward strangled gulp. This is the first time I have ever heard of my sons referred to as _the princes. _I reach a trembling hand to my cup and wash down two mouthfuls of the wine. It goes to my head too quickly. But I welcome the slight numbing it brings my nerves.

It feels incredulous to hear someone else speak of the twins. Especially in Faerie, where I did not want anyone to know about them at all. But of course the Court of Shadows would know some, if not all, of the biggest secrets of the High King. They are in his utmost confidence. Not only his inner circle, such as Locke and Nicasia, but his _secret inner_ _circle. _

Maybe I should be relieved that the people I trust are protecting Auron and Virion. My mind wanders over thoughts of deviating from my plan. I want to see them. I _need _to see them. There's a dampening at my chest and hope it isn't visible through the layers of the bodice of my gown. I crave to hold them to my breast, nurse them, breathe them in. I know the Bomb would take me to Auron and Virion. I could take them and run. I could find a way-

"Jude." The Bomb snaps me out of my reverie. "They are safe. They're being well cared for at Cardan's behest. I have not heard them cry but once or twice."

I know her words are meant as a comfort to me but I flinch at the mention of Cardan. I seethe at the thought of him, how he took my children from me. Took everything from me. And I struggle to picture him with our sons. To think of him as their father. Sire yes...but I've not once imagined him caring for Auron or Virion or showing any affection. I wouldn't think of Cardan as even knowing how, "But I'm their _mother_."

"And that is why we're going to help you. Just tell us what you need us to do, general's daughter. What is your plan?"

I turn my attention to the Roach expectantly and he smiles slow and mischievously, black lips stretching over sharp teeth, "Well the Queen needs her crown. And to answer your question," he pauses for effect, "This one will be easy: Grimsen is in the Tower of Forgetting."

"Definitely easy. We can get you in long enough for some..._bargaining_." The Bomb nonchalantly flips over a hand of cards I hadn't noticed were placed in front of her. And myself.

I've learned in my time here to _not _engage in faerie games of any kind, so I've never played their cards. Only a few childish games Madoc taught Taryn and I as kids; Vivi didn't want anything to do with _anything_ of faerie-and still doesn't-she wouldn't play with us. I fan out the small stack I've been dealt and then gather them up again and set them aside. "No, not easy." I say and the Bomb and the Roach both look up at me simultaneously, "Because we're not just going to do a little bargaining. We're going to help him escape. _Tonight_."

The Roach chokes on his wine and has an obnoxiously long coughing fit. And the Bomb bites back her smile with slightly pointed teeth and says, "I am so glad The Queen has returned."

A long shadow passes over the table as the Ghost suddenly and soundlessly materializes. Alerting us to his otherwise silent approach. He stands in front of one of the lanterns hung on the opposite wall and crosses his arms over his lean chest. The lantern light makes his pale hair a haloed glow, "And to think I was just coming down to complain of how dull this night has been. And to advise you both to be well into your drink before we trade off rounds." He looks bemusedly at me as he speaks. "But I can see the night has only thus started now hasn't it, my _Queen_."

"Yes and you have come at the most opportune time," The Roach begins. He deftly kicks a chair out from beneath the table for the Ghost who promptly sits, arms crossed over his chest again. "As I am sure you are well aware that your..._husband _has kept himself quite busy in your absence." His brows raise suggestively.

And I know of what he is referring. _Nicasia. Let Nicasia stay...many who love her are here._I try to push away the memory of Cardan requesting Nicasia to say in Elfhame and as ambassador in Balekin's stead. How he once told me he loved her. I did not think that perhaps he still did. But what bothers me most since the knowledge of this _engagement _is why agree to a marriage with Nicasia now, when he so strongly denied one in the past? Cardan and I have already made vows. And although they were in secret they are not null. But I do not have time to guess at what Cardan's play is.

I ignore the storm of feelings that want to rise to the surface and cloud my judgement. I pointedly ignore the Roach's prompting of _that _conversation and turn to the Ghost, "You are correct, the night has only thus begun." I stand and shove my chair back under the table and pace back and forth. "First we need to get a message to Madoc in the Unseelie Lands alerting him that he will be receiving a most welcome visitor tonight and to send his knights to collect."

I hole up into the office to think. To plan. Sitting at the desk, I run my hands over its smooth polished surface before unrolling the map of Elfame and securing its curled corners with a few stubby unlit candles I find in a cupboard. After studying the map for a moment, I look up at the empty chair in front of me. The one I had once tied Cardan to. Where I had him beneath my thumb and at my mercy. I smile darkly to myself at the memory. It feels so good to be here. Right under Cardan's nose-the mortal girl who overthrew a kingdom.

And is about to do so once again. After all this time, I have a plan.

Back in the main room I interrupt a budding argument over which way is quickest to get a message into Unseelie by slamming my palms down onto the top of the table in front of the Bomb and grin almost maniacally. It feels as if I have never left the Court of Shadows or Elfhame at all and hadn't just spent a year in the human world, "Ready to create one of your biggest diversions yet?"

The Bomb returns my grin, eyes gleaming with mischievous amusement, "I really do enjoy your schemes."


	9. Chapter 8

I leave the Court of Shadows-our plan in place-and stick to the empty corridors bypassing the great hall. The engagement party is not a big affair, such as the coronation. This appears to be more of a private party. Or perhaps an excuse to indulge and cavort. Which is in my favor, actually, as there are not as many revelers and courtiers. And there does not seem to be any of the other courts in attendance. The only livery I see here are the banners of Greenbriar.

It is well into the night and that is apparent in the disarray of the palace. Wax drips in thick rivulets from the candle sconces that line the walls, unattended by servants. Partygoers have now been long into their celebrations and debauchery. Empty wooden cups, and glass bottles lay abandoned here and there throughout the halls. Mice nibble at clumsily dropped bits of food-a wedge of cheese here. A golden apple there, with but one bite taken-its ruby red flesh glistens in the candlelight. The mice cower and scurry as I pass, disappearing into gaps of the twisting roots of the palace walls. A vine stretches out and curls around my wrist, snagging me as I pass. Startled, I rip out of its grasp and quicken my pace.

Sleeping and unchaste faeries lay immodestly pillowed on one another in mostly tapestry covered alcoves and divans Not one of them coherent enough to acknowledge me passing by. Although the sound of my footsteps are muffled by the echo of song resonating from what I perceive to be coming from the great hall. The soft plinking sound of a lyre accompanied by melodic tones of a flute.

I keep thinking about how somewhere down one of these winding halls, behind one of these heavy wooden doors are my sons. Perhaps asleep in a cot, bundled together as they prefer. I am so close to them. And it pains me so deeply to just walk out of here. Feels as if I am abandoning them. I have to remind myself that I must stay strong and take these steps, this is the only way I can get them back. Giving in to my emotions and sneaking into wherever their nursery is, and attempting to just walk right out of here with two infant princes of Faerie would be stupid.

Children are rare in Faerie. Which is why they are treasured. And Cardan is a young king, for him to already have produced-not one, but two heirs-in his short reign to secure the Greenbriar line so soon, makes him more favorable. Its shows that despite his preference in drink and revels, his lineage is strong. He will be considered a strong king. And a strong king makes an even stronger kingdom. Typically many consorts are taken for this reason, to better the chance at multiple heirs. And even so it can take many years, decades even.

The birth of Auron and Virion would have been thoroughly celebrated by not only Elfhame but all of the courts of Faerie in alliance. But Cardan has not yet announced them at court. I do not know his reasoning for that. Or what plans he has up his ridiculous ruffled sleeves.

Near the grand entrance to the Palace, I remind myself that I am Taryn and not Jude. To walk with purpose. I have a right to be here. I am a guest. I am the mortal wife of one of the Gentry. I gesture to an awaiting servant, a hunched-over hobgoblin attending the doors. Occupying his time by leisurely plucking tiny translucent spiders from between the thicket of vines that form the archway; and popping them into his mouth greedily. It is not an unusual sight to me-as a child I tried them once, Tatterfell called them a delicacy. I did not see the appeal.

I instruct the servant to have a groom ready Locke's horse and have the carriage brought around. I decide to wait out on the grounds of the palace instead of awkwardly lingering at the entrance. Hoping it is less likely trouble will find me out there as opposed to inside, where it is filled with inebriated faeries who would love to happen upon a vulnerable mortal.

But perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps a mortal can never be safe in Faerie. Just as I step over the threshold and into the cool night air, inhaling deeply the fresh salt-spray and pine scent of the world I missed deeply, trouble finds me.

"Leaving without congratulating your king?" Its Cardan. He steps out of the shadows of the decorative shrubbery of the palace gardens: tangles of twisting archways that bloom in violet and yellow. His flower crown is askew, the blossoms beginning to wilt. And his lips are flecked with traces of gold, eyes smudged messily with kohl. But he walks without faltering steps and his gaze is clear and focused. Intent even. He approaches me as an animal would approach their prey.

He is wearing a jacket now, high collared and black and trimmed with raven feathers. His feet are bare. Twice in one night I have sought the gardens in solace only to fall right into the path of the two faeries I had purposely meant to avoid. I clench my jaw so it doesn't allude to my trembling. I am not afraid of him, no. It is far more than that. It is many things. I am trembling from holding myself _back_.

_I, Cardan, son of Eldred, High King of Elfhame, take you, Jude Duarte…._Memories echo through me: Cardan's voice, our vows, images of him hovering over me, the sensation of his mouth on mine, my hands on his bare hips, his breath heavy in my ear. But also the cries of my sons, the feel of them swaddled in my arms, gazing into their dark almond-shaped eyes, the panic I felt the morning I found their cot empty.

My composure is spiraling and I struggle to hide my seething rage. He has Auron and Virion. _Took _them from me. Has them here, hidden somewhere. Cardan has stripped me bare. And forcing myself to stand here as my docile twin, I vow to return him the exact courtesy.

The land seems to shift with Cardan as he moves. If you blink you would miss it: a flower swivels from the moonlight's path in favor of him, vines grow and stretch toward him as he passes, the clover undulates beneath his steps. Perhaps that is why he is out here in the gardens, barefooted and alone. To feel the power he has over the land.

Cardan stands before me. Too close. His lithe faerie height looms over me. He smells of woodsmoke and something earthy like rotting autumn leaves. He pauses to watch me. _He knows._ I am so certain he knows. So certain that he can hear the truth by the pounding rhythm of my heart. His eyes travel down my body. Calculating, assessing. He appraises my hair, jewelry, dress and even the soft leather slippers on my feet. I quickly hide one of the only physical differences between my twin and I by clenching my hand into a fist.

"But I believe I am to congratulate _you_." He rocks back on his heels, and one corner of his sullen mouth curves up slightly at the confusion he sees in my eyes. "On the fruitfulness of your mortal womb. I must admit it has been somewhat sickening to see how much happiness you have brought Locke."

My confusion furthers and Cardan appraises me a moment longer. The air between us feels alive with an intimidating energy. I have been rendered speechless. A horse whinnies nearby. Followed by the rhythmic clopping of its hooves and carriage wheels crunching over loose gravel. The sound cause both Cardan and I to break out of our uncomfortably long scrutiny of each other as Locke's coachman eases the carriage along the path.

Cardan takes a step past me, pauses, and then faces me again, "Oh, I will be sure to let Locke know that his wife has returned home safely. Would that you could expect him tonight, though it isn't likely at all. Goodnight, _Taryn." _He forces a cold smile that fades just as soon as it appears, before slipping back into the shadows of the gardens.

I don't linger despite how frozen in place I feel after my second encounter with Cardan tonight. I greet the coachman with merely a nod when he opens the carriage door for me; and plop down on the velvet seat thinking about how I have managed to not say one word to him. The moment of proximity to Cardan had my head in a such a spin, I couldn't even comprehend what was said to me. I could only focus on forcing myself not to act. Struggling just to stand there in front of him, whom I feel almost born to hate.

_On the fruitfulness of your mortal womb. _Cardan's words repeat in my mind. Was he referring to me? Did it know it was me? But if he did, would he have just let me go? But it all begins to click into place on the slow and somewhat bumpy ride back to Locke's estate: _I do not want for your illness to hinder your enjoyment. _The elixir...Locke is not poisoning or glamouring Taryn…Taryn is carrying.

_I must admit it has been somewhat sickening to see how much happiness you have brought Locke. _I fall back against the plush seat and stare at the empty bench across from me. Just as my sister would. Just as I assume she does many a night. Perhaps that is why Locke had us travel by carriage, so that Taryn can return home safely. Alone. While he remains at parties throughout the night and possibly longer, doing things I'm sure even Taryn pretends not to be aware of.

And guilt creeps over me as I think of my twin living under a glamour in the human world. But I tell myself that it will be safer for her there anyway.

I can't imagine what it would be like to not be able to lie.


	10. Chapter 9

Back at the estate, I allow Berylstone to tend to me. I wouldn't be able to unlace the intricate workings of the gown myself anyway. And I don't want to keep acting in a way that would seem out of the norm for Taryn, causing Berylstone reason to suspect something. Or give her something to report back to Locke as I unintentionally did earlier. As well, tending to Taryn is part of her duties in her employment here. I would not want to cause her to be coincidentally insubordinate to her master. There are rules of formality here amongst the Gentry.

Most of the house has retired at this late hour. The kitchens were dark, the cooks long returned to their own dwellings. And I did not see any of the other servants who work in the house, aside from the footman who received me, and Berylstone. Nothing will seem amiss: I left the palace as Taryn and returned home as Taryn.

I wait restlessly after Berylstone has finally finished fussing over me and leaves me to myself in Taryn and Locke's rooms. Pacing back and forth in front of the hearth and alternating bites of apple and cheese with sips of tea, I listen for her slow and heavy footsteps to clop down the back stairwell. The fire has since died down to glowing embers, tinting the room an eerie orange. Satisfied that it is now safe, I dash over to the wardrobe on what I consider Taryn's side of the bedchambers and quickly rifle through her belongings in search of a tunic and hopefully a pair of trousers and boots.

At the bottom of the wardrobe, folded neatly and tucked away beneath the frill of Taryn's countless dresses and gowns, I find a pair of thick wool riding pants and tall leather riding boots. In a small drawer I find one of the bras Taryn bought at the mall. With a thankful sigh I cast off the nightgown Berylstone put me in as if I were a small child and shove my legs into the pants and boots.

I couldn't find a tunic. And I'm not surprised; Taryn always preferred wearing gowns. When we were children, months and months after we first came to live in Madoc's home, Taryn told me that she liked dressing just like the princesses in the storybooks that Mom used to read us. That she pretends she is one. I didn't feel the same way. I liked the dresses just fine but I preferred to pretend to be a knight, wielding my practice stick around as if were a real gleaming sword of the strongest metals. strategized

I resort to one of Locke's wide shouldered and frill-sleeved shirts. I have to roll the cuffs twice which creates a ridiculous bulk over my wrists but it'll have to do. Berylstone left my hair loose for sleeping so I gather it up into a braid down my back and secure it with twine.

The quickest way to Insweal, which hosts the Tower of Forgetting on the highest of the craggy bluffs above the fiercest tide of Elfhame, is not far from Locke's estate. There the sea covers a mass of jagged rocks the size of ships. The waves crash so violently against them that they reach to the top of the prison's soaring tower in thunderous beatings. And continuously shower the cells within with cold, salty sea water.

I debate taking a toad the edge of Insmire. It would be less conspicuous to travel by foot. And it's possible there could still be a groom in the stables who would see me. As well someone might spot the toad if I leave it secured at the cliff side. I choose to walk instead, although I will have to hurry.

My eyesight is poor in the dark, I stumble and fall and trip and nearly twist an ankle as I run through the rough terrain of the island between Locke's estate and the shoreline. There is no frequented pathway here; the ground covered in thick and twisting roots and scattered in hollowed out acorns, fallen branches and broken pine cones. The night is cool and the wind kicks up the closer I get to the sea, carrying with it the scent of brine and juniper. When I nearly collide into a large thorny shrub inhabited by sprites, I inadvertently attract their unwelcome attention. The bush lights up in a flash of startled and angered sprites who dart after me, plucking at strands of hair and nipping at my exposed flesh. Finally they tire out or give up, or realize I am not trying to cause harm just as I reach the edge of the isle.

The sea is calm here between the isles of Insmire and Insweal. And I can see glittering lights and hear the faint sound of lyre song from Mandrake Market on Insmoor's small island. But just beyond Insweal the ocean swells into towering waves that crash angrily against its shore. Seabirds squall loudly overhead causing me to look up into the dark expanse of sky. It is clear and full with bright twinkling stars and constellations in a way you could never see from the human world.

I slide down the sandy bank onto the narrow beach. Sand and dirt fall into my boots and work their way in between my toes. I try to ignore it as I press myself against the small cove of land and wait. My chest aches with exertion and I focus on slowing my breath while I run the steps of our plan through my head. Cardan's sobriety was a surprise and makes me nervous. I did not expect him to be so clear minded, and was counting on his usual drunkenness for this to all go smoothly. I think of the Bomb and Niniel in the Crooked Forest waiting as well. By now Madoc's knights should be into place and any moment we'll hear-

As if on cue the sound of the guard's horn blasts loudly through the quiet of the late night. It echoes off the islands. And as planned I hurry across the stones to Insweal during the blaring chaos of the gaurd's alarm. The stones are slick with seaweed and the small waves lap over them, concealing each stone and soaking my boots up to my ankles. I don't have time to wait for each swell of water to recede to see where the next stone lies. I chance each leap until finally I land onto the rocky shore of the Isle of Woe on hands and knees. I stay low, crawling over jagged rocks and the sharp edges of broken shells until I can safely peer over the edge of the cliffside. I can just make out the shape of the Tower of Forgetting, silhouetted by the moon's reflected light off the sea beyond it. Lantern light shifts from window to window, descending through the tower. And I watch as a guard emerges from the gates below to stare out across the island toward Insmire, toward the palace. The sound of the guard's horn has ceased. I glance behind me but it is too far and too dark for me to see anything and I wonder what the guard is able to see from here. But while he is distracted I run as quickly and quietly as I can, scrambling up the damp, steep bluff to the tower.

The Roach appears from around the back to intercept me just as my feet hit the stone of the foundation. He presses a slender green-tinged finger to his lips and then signals behind him. Two of Madoc's knights-Merek and Braern-step up beside him, gentry fey, tall and broad-shouldered, they tower over me. Their cloaks boast Madoc's crest in red and gold stitching to the left of their chests. My gaze is momentarily transfixed by the crescent moon and the dagger embroidered there. And the little droplet stitched in red: I always wondered if it was meant to represent blood or wine spilling from the cup.

Being raised in a general's home I am no stranger to knights and commanders, guards and spies. Sometimes they dined at our table. Broadswords still at their sides, daggers tucked into their sleeves and strapped at their ankles. I was both intimidated and completely fascinated. But I've never been _this_ close to them; I've never _strategized_ with them. Merek and Braern both regard me blankly, their lips pressed into thin lines, unimpressed.

Suddenly the Roach slams me against the cold mossy tower wall at the sound of heavy footfalls. Another guard exits the tower and joins the first down at the cliffside. We don't tarry a moment longer. I trust the Roach to know that it is now safe to slip through the open gates at the tower entrance. Merek remains outside, we leave him pressed against the wall with a nod. He'll wait there in case trouble finds us.

We may be able to sneak past the guards but not anyone occupying the cells. I think of when I came here last; to speak with Balekin. There were few prisoners then. I hope there are even less now. Although, I am not overly concerned with unintentionally giving prisoners good bargaining information. I'll have my crown before anyone is able to feed the rumors into the right hands, and for anything to be done about it. As well they will see only three enter the tower and three leave, hopefully nothing else.

One of the guards' cloaks hangs on the wall just inside the entrance of the tower, I drape it over my shoulders and draw up the hood. The Roach and I silently ascend the damp stone steps with Braern trailing behind us in search of Grimsen. The wind is fierce on the isle of Insweal, unhindered by the barren landscape, it howls through the narrow barred windows and beneath the rotting wood of the doors on each level. And everything is dampened by the sea mist, the salt of it coats my lips. I wrap the borrowed cloak tightly over my chest. We pass only two cells that, despite the dark, are obviously occupied: a spriggen in one and a hag in another. Both of whom hold their attention rapt at their small window, the curiosity of the commotion from Insmire allows us to pass by seemingly unnoticed.

Grimsen finds us first. Instead of peering out of his window his hands are wrapped around the bars of his cell. The _cold_ _iron _bars that I am surprised and a bit worried to see have no apparent effect on him. Perhaps his years as a blacksmith working metal have lowered his tolerance. He appears as if he has been expecting us and smiles despite himself at our arrival. He knows why I am here.

"Ah, the Queen of Mirth," Grimsen begins. "Or more appropriately, the _Exiled Queen_. I knew it would not be long until we would see each other again." He pauses to regard the Roach and Braern but doesn't greet them. "And I knew the time when kings and queens would beg of me would come again as well. So, forgo pleasantries and make your bargain. I know what it is you want, but what will you give me?"

I move closer to Grimsen's cell to reply but stop as shouts echo through the tower. They are not close but it gives me a nervous feeling of urgency that makes my stomach twist. The Roach and I exchange glances, our eyes portraying our worry. We don't have much time. I turn back to face Grimsen, his silver hair is matted down against his head and without his fine clothes and jewels, he looks smaller than before. "A pardon," I reply. "Forge me my crown and I will pardon you once I take my rightful place on the throne. And as the High King once granted you a boon, so shall I: you may remain unsworn as long as you give me your word you will never forge another crown after mine." Braern steps forward at my gesture, "I have secured a place for you, where you can work, and you'll be protected. We leave right now."

Grimsen's knobby hands drop from the bars as he steps back, eyes on the long and heavy metal key the Roach pulls from his pocket. He knicked it from the prison guards' station below the tower before I arrived. "Very well," Grimsen replies. "You have my word that I shall not ever forge another crown after yours" The iron gate swings open with a low groan that I hope is muffled by the roaring sound of the tide crashing down below. Grimsen doesn't tarry. He doesn't look back as he steps out of his small, dark and damp cell. And he doesn't have-or wasn't permitted to have-anything belongings. There is a cot against the far wall covered in a tattered blanket and a low stool in the corner. It's too dark for me to make out anything else that might be in the cell. I glance at Braern, suddenly feeling sympathetic. He surveys the cell with a frown and trades cloaks with Grimsen solemnly.

Braern takes Grimsen's place in the Tower of Forgetting. He gives us a single nod, wraps himself in Grimsen's filthy cloak and the Roach locks him in. Shrouded by the hood and tucked into the shadows, nothing will seem amiss when the prison guards make their rounds. No suspicions will arise. I hope.

Midway into our descent through the tower, the Roach pauses to peer from a window. Both Grimsen and I do not have the height that he possesses so we wait, backs flat against the cold stone of the wall. The Roach ducks out of the window with a curse, "There's a guard approaching from Insmire. Could be just passing a message informing each station the cause for the alarm. It's possible one of the generals might deem it necessary to bring a troop around to secure the threat."

"What does this mean?" I ask, breath coming in a quick pant. I'm starting to feel like this plan is set up for failure. Sure, we could throw in a few slaughters and get out quickly but that would only be counterproductive. We need to get in and get out with none the wiser and nothing amiss if at all possible. For a moment I consider some of the vials of poisons back at the lair, I should've pocketed a bottle or two. We could have put the prison guards into a sleep if we were to be caught. It wouldn't be inconspicuous, but it would get us out.

The Roach carefully peeks out through the shaft of the window once more, "It could be in our favor, the distraction that we need. And well, if it is not, I did see an impressive range of weaponry down in the guards' station. And I do have the key." He grins widely, the whites of his eyes and teeth gleam in the path of the moonlight through the window.


	11. Chapter 10

At the palace with Madoc's help, we have staged an attack to create the distraction we need to extract Grimsen. We arranged to have a few of Madoc's liveried knights "captured" in the false attack that would appear to be mostly intercepted by the Court of Shadows before too many unnecessary casualties should occur. In the haze of the revelers drunken stupor, the Bomb's loud and fiery talents will add to the illusion of a real attempt on a weak point at the Palace of Elfhame.

We hear a lieutenant reiterate the scene we created to the prison guards. Our mouths are gleaming grins in the dark: it worked. Only that we neglected to foresee the final hours of the night would now be on high alert and heavily guarded with scouts. As well, the lieutenant informs the guard that one of the generals will be personally escorting the "traitors" as he called them to the Tower of Forgetting, to await their audience with the High King.

I feel a twinge of guilt. Madoc's knights were only following orders. They will have to take the fall. But what the general said is true, these are some of Elfhame's military that did not return, and chose to stay with Madoc when he essentially stole them from Cardan. They _are_ now unsworn traitors to the crown. As queen, perhaps I will not judge them too harshly simply for their duty in helping me achieve my crown tonight..

Finally our opportunity arises: the prison guard and the lieutenant disappear around the corner of the tower and we dash out of the gates toward the stone pathway between the islands. The knight who stayed behind-Merek-joins us silently. We stay low and don't look back. And I can't help but grin when I glance over at the Roach, our plan is working. I am so close to getting my crown, my revenge and my sons.

But my victory is short lived. When we drop down onto the rocky shore from the cliff's edge one by one, we nearly come face to face with a dripping metallic-scale covered Selkie knight. His hair is long and resembles rivulets of slippery dark green sea kelp. My eyes go wide and I feel my stomach knot with realization. The Selkie turns slowly toward the shallow lapping of the inlet of sea between Insmire and Insweal and strikes the water with a long opalescent pole with a piercingly sharp tip; a Narwhal's tusk, that he holds like a staff. He then swings back to face us, inky black eyes daring us to move.

The water behind the Selkie knight bubbles ominously and swells with a large dark shadow just below the surface at the northernmost point of Insweal. A menacing wave grows from the waters as the Queen of the Undersea emerges, bursting forth from the ocean on an orca as before in a spray of water. The wave crashes against the rocky shore where we stand, rushing through our legs up to our knees and pulling back so fiercely our footing is lost and we are dragged over sharp, jagged edges of rock and shells on our backs. And pooled into pathetic wet heaps at Queen Orlagh's inhuman feet.

The skin of my back feels raw and the sting of the seawater makes me hiss a breath. I am unable to mask the pain as I quickly scramble to standing along with the Roach, Merek and Grimsen. All of whom, drop down to a knee just as soon as they came to stand. The Roach's eyes go wide and he ever so slightly jerks his head toward the ground, indicating me to bow. I drop to my knee and duck my head in subservience. Queen Orlagh does not tell us to rise. My knee is digging into the rough crushed shells between the larger rocks. My clothes are soaked through and when the wind kicks up between gusts it blows right through my thin shirt, I bite my lip at the sting again and again. There is a tickle down my back and I know it is not only droplets of water.

Queen Orlagh crunches gracefully along the pebbled and craggy shore, despite her fish-scale covered feet. She is resplendent in an armored bodice of iridescent shells, a skirt of nearly transparent gossamer that clings to her wet thighs, and a crown of coral upon her regal head. She stops before me and I can't hide my trembling. I think of my time in the Undersea. The horrors of it. The hunger, the cold. The never knowing if I'd ever get out. I can't go back there. "Rise." She says calmly.

We stand at her command. I hear several sharp intakes of breath. I am not the only one who sustained injuries, although I would be more surprised if anyone else did not. The sun is just beginning to rise, setting the skyline aflame in a fiery orange beyond Insmire. Birds chirp and the small creatures of the forest chitter their anticipation of daylight. I keep my eyes down, focusing on the seawater that puddles from my sodden boots. My jaw is clenched; mostly in pain, but also in anger. And to keep myself from talking out of turn. I may have my sway with Cardan, but I have learned enough as a child of the Gentry to not speak to royals until or unless they have inquired of me first.

"Jude Duarte," Orlagh begins, "look at me." Her voice is soft with the seductive melody of a Siren. "The mortal girl who believes she is worthy of a throne." She pauses, her fierce gaze settling onto Grimsen. "I know why it is you are here. And I will not let that happen. You are human and plain, I see not why the young king favors you. But whatever beauty he sees in you will not last, and he will tire of you. You are but a muse. I will not let you destroy something you are too small in your mortality to understand.

"And I can not incite war with your High King, so I cannot kill you as I would most enjoy. I will have to make do another way." She leans forward and grabs my chin in a cold and slippery grip, "I almost pity how you believe you can stand in the way of my daughter, a _princess, _worthy of Cardan's hand. Did you know how quickly he invited her to warm his bed in your absence?" She releases me, drawing up her shoulders to peer down at me with a look of disgust. "Do not think by his not allowing my wrath upon you for the murder of Balekin, he is in love with you. Go back to your mortal world, girl, where you will wither and rot; and your lover will live another thousand years thereafter and thereafter yet."

Before my mind can catch up with the racing of my heart, Queen Orlagh turns to her Selkie knight and speaks a command in a tongue I cannot comprehend. When the knight starts toward the shore in Grimsen's direction the realization comes to me. But it comes too late. In just one blink the Selkie's armor of scales glints blindingly against the rising sun's light, reflecting pink and orange. I cry out in a hopeless lunge toward Grimsen but all I see is a swell and a ripple of the sea's surface. The tide rushes over my feet, but my gaze is transfixed on the depth of sea where Grimsen was pulled under. Finally, I look up trying to mask the look of defeat on my face, but by the smug expression of the Queen of the Undersea I know she is not fooled. I may be able to lie with the words of my mouth but I cannot lie like the Fey.

Orlagh turns away as if I am nothing. Not worth another utterance. As if it was already beneath her to have been forced to speak with me at all. I watch numbly as she returns to the Undersea.

_I curse you. Three times, I curse you. As you've murdered me, may your hands always be stained with blood. May death be your only companion __1, _I think of Valerian's words the night I killed him. I have failed. I want nothing more but to just collapse right here into a sodden heap of defeat and give up. But the Roach grabs me by my elbow and urges me toward the stone path. His Jaw is set and I can tell by the way he holds his shoulders that he is angered. Without protest I follow him and Merek across the sea.

Back on the isle of Insmire, Merek takes to the skies on the ragwort steed he conjured. I think of Madoc's reaction when he reports to him upon his return, his disappointment. A disappointment that will turn into rage. Shame heats my wind-chapped cheeks.

The Roach and I walk on silently. Either he understands that I do not want to talk, or he is just as upset as I am. Either way it is best we keep to ourselves: I feel a dam of emotions that is ready to spill out at the slightest touch. When we reach the far grounds of Locke's estate, I don't stop. The Roach gives me a questioning glance but I only sigh. I continue on, alongside the Roach and through the Crooked Forest. Although no words have been said, he understands.

I am tired.

And I am done playing Taryn.

Back in the nest of the Court of Shadows, I collapse in damp clothes and boots onto a lumpy, horse-hair stuffed pallet on the floor and sleep.


	12. Chapter 11

I awake suddenly from a heavy sleep. Still face down on the pallet. I shift to my back with a groan. Everything hurts. My head is pounding, mouth dry. And I can feel bits of sand scratching along the band of my bra and pants, and under my arms and in between my toes inside my boots.

The room is mostly dark but warm. I am unsure how long I slept but it seems I am the only one awake. Only a single lantern is lit, its flickering light barely visible through the doorway of the main room. Glancing around, I can make out that most of the spies of the court of shadows are accounted for. Those who sleep here because they have nowhere else in which they belong, and those who chose to sleep here for reasons we never ask.

I can see the Bomb, a petite heap of blankets and tangle of white dandelion fluff of hair. Niniel. The Roach, on his back, legs too long to fit his pallet. And Snapdragon perched atop his toes, head tucked into a ruffle of feathers. I don't see the Ghost but he is a light sleeper and prefers the quiet of rising before anyone else. I don't know how I feel about him though. About him getting a chance to return to the Court of Shadows after he betrayed us. I could say that I did miss him. I just don't know if I can ever trust him again, although I would like to believe we all can.

I lay there on my back for a long while willing myself to move my sore and tired body. Listening to everyone quietly sleep, except the Roach. I've never heard one of the Fey snore. Hobgoblins and imps and the like, yes. No one else in my family ever snored, not even lightly, like myself or Taryn. Not Locke, not Cardan. Just gentle little inhalations of breath that you could only hear if you really listened for it. But I'm not surprised that the Roach snores, with a nose like that. I glare in his direction for a moment.

Finally I convince myself to sit up, hissing a breath at the pain from the scrapes on my back, my knees, my palms. My breasts are full and ache with engorgement, the wires of Taryn's bra dig in painfully, the cups constricting. I reach up under Locke's borrowed shirt and unclasp and shed it off, cursing myself for not bringing anything with me from Vivi's apartment. Specifically the clever device Vivi bought me to help with this discomfort after Auron and Virion were taken. In the bathing chamber, I fill a basin with rinsing water and attempt to clean myself up as best as I can, wiping a soft cloth over my face, neck and underarms, and rinsing my mouth. My hair is too tangled and my muscles too tense to bother working a comb through it so I leave it.

I walk stiffly into the common room in a foul mood and rifle through the cabinets for a cup and a wineskin; downing a cupful in three swallows. I debate filling it again but the wine hits my empty stomach heavily, immediately giving my head a floaty feeling. I reach for a carafe of rosehip water instead. And rip a chunk off a stale loaf of bread. Grabbing the lantern from the wall, I make my way into the office and stand in the middle of the room surveying all its belongings but not really seeing anything. The Ghost caused a lot of damage to the lair when he betrayed us, with large areas that had collapsed, but the spies have done well enough returning the nest back to _almost_ how it was before.

Finishing the piece of bread, I dust crumbs off the collar of my shirt and wince at the pain in my hands, but a little shelf with scrolls of maps catches my attention. I pull one of the scrolls out and unroll it atop the desk. I am familiar with this map. It is the map of the tunnels and secret passageways within the palace, a very special map that shouldn't just be placed here where it can be so easily found, even in the Court of Shadows. I trace my finger along the lines, along one of them that was inked by myself and the Ghost. And I know what I am going to do.

Using the slyfooted techniques the Ghost had once taught me, I emerge from the passageway within the walls of the palace into the High King of Efhame's rooms. Although, I apparently am standing at the back of a wardrobe; the sleeves of Cardan's coats, shirts and robes smothering my face. It smells of him, reminiscent of the Milkwood, of damp moss and woodsmoke, of wine. I push through the plush material of the king's finery, my hands outstretched in front of me in the darkness until they press against what I assume are the doors of the wardrobe. Inhaling a breath before gently pressing against the smooth solid wood, I cringe at the soft click of the latch when the door opens.

I pause for a moment and listen before stepping down into Cardan's bedchambers. Suddenly the thought occurs that he might not be alone. And standing here in his rooms feels like a really stupid idea. I half turn to go back but chance a glance further into his rooms, toward the half-tester bed where Cardan lies sleeping. Alone. Under a bower of softly perfumed foliage. Which bloom in buttery yellow, the bright green of new sprouts, purples both light and deep, and bluebells that emit their own glow like a smattering of stars across the vine covered ceiling.

The room is warm, a bit humid like walking through the gardens on a summer night. Fragrant with blooms. It is lit dimly by the glowing embers in the hearth, and the gentle blue glow of the bluebells. It looks beautiful, serene and inviting. Despite the disarray; shirts and trousers lay draped over the edge of a divan. A tray with tea service and several cups sit atop a low table beside half eaten, crumbling oatcakes. Wine bottles and goblets either empty, full or nearly so, crowd a dressing table along the wall beside a plush couch.

Cardan is on his back, one arm rests over his stomach, the other is thrown up onto his pillow. He is all moon-pale skin and dark as night hair. My breath hitches at the sight of him, the beauty of him. A gauzy white sheet is pulled up to his waist and I watch him sleep for longer than necessary. Watch the slow rise and fall of his bare chest. It's been almost a year since I have seen him so intimately as this. I try not to think of the last time is was here. With him. In his rooms.

In his bed.

Pulling the handle of a short knife from out of my pocket, I think of Auron and Virion instead. I think of the laughing faces of the Folk when I was exiled. I think of the harrowing pains of labor and birth, and the cot I found empty of my sons.

With renewed anger, I lunge onto the bed, pinning Cardan down with my weight, the length of the blade pressed against his throat. Startled from sleep, Cardan reacts immediately, his hands coming up to enclose over both of my wrists. But he pauses when I press the blade down harder against his skin, one slip of the knife is all it would take by the hold I have on him. He blinks rapidly as he comes to his senses, I can feel the pounding of his heart against my own chest. And when he realizes who I am, I feel him relax. His hands slip from my wrists and as his muscles lose their tense position, it feels as if he sinks into the dandelion stuffed mattress beneath me.

The thought that he does not fear me angers me further. Makes me feel the way Madoc treats me, how Madoc sees me only as a silly girl playing at swords and daydreams of knighthood. I grit my teeth, sneering into his face, my hair is a wild salt-laden, tangled mess, I'm bruised, scraped, probably bleeding and I'm ready to draw _his_ blood. I move the knife point to the pulse of his throat. A vine whips down from overhead and snakes along my arm and begins to squeeze.

His dark eyes lock with mine. And slowly in a way that one might face a wild animal in the wood, he wraps his fingers over my wrist again. "Jude." He says simply. A greeting, an admonishment, a truce.

For a moment I falter, _is this what I want? Would I really go this far? _But I have come this far. I pause, staring down into his intense dark eyes, and choose my words carefully, "You will pardon me, you will allow me my children. Or I will let this blade pierce your throat, spilling your heart's blood. And upon your death, one of your sons will take your place and I will rule all of Faerie as queen regent for years and years yet to come."

Cardan lurches forward, thrusting my knife hand out and twisting it behind my back. Pain causes me to release my grasp, I hear the knife clatter to the floor. He scrambles out from under me, the abrupt movement makes me fall back onto the footboard, I cry out on the impact against my already bruised and torn flesh. I think of the tournament, the way he wound my hair around his fist, how he sneered into my face with disgust. I hate that I flinch as he towers over me, afraid that he might hurt me like that again. Pinning my arms down atop the bed, he leers above me on his knees. For a moment I see a flicker of something in his eyes, a Faerie hunger for chaos and blood; the look that Valerian had when his hands were wrapped around my neck. I writhe and twist my way out from under him. Scrambling up against the bedpost, twisted in sheets, I calculate my next move with ragged breaths.

But Cardan sits back onto his heels, he's wearing linen trousers and nothing else. He tilts his head and regards me with a ghost of a smile on his typically downturned mouth. A loose tendril of hair falls over his brow, "That was not the kind of tousle I am accustomed to having in bed." His chest heaves with labored breath and then the humor leaves his face. "Did you really think you could enter my kingdom against my knowledge? The land sensed it nearly before you set your toe upon it." His eyes travel over my body, taking in my disheveled attire,my matted hair. He pauses at my borrowed shirt and fixes me a cold stare, "Tell me, did you enjoy playing at Locke's little wife, lying in his bed while you plotted my _murder_?"

Ignoring his implications, I catch sight of the dagger just peeking out from beneath the foot of the bed. I curse myself for not being more thoroughly prepared, I had only the one knife, I should have stopped in the weapons room before I left the lair. Without hesitation I jump to the floor and take it up into my hand. I ready the blade by holding it the way Madoc taught me when I was only nine.

The same way I held it when I killed Balekin.

And Valerian.

Something must change in my eyes that unnerves Cardan, he stands but remains at the head of the bed, eyes darting from mine and to the knife blade and back again. I repeat my demands through gritted teeth, "I said, pardon me, give me my sons-"

"They are beautiful, Auron and Virion. Our sons. _Precious_." Cardan interrupts just barely above a whisper.

I glare at him incredulously, shaking my head back and forth, "How could you, Cardan?" My knees threaten to fail me and I swallow back a sob. But I stand my ground. This time I speak without weakness, "How could you _take _them from me?" I rush at him blind with anguish, frustration. And with my forearm against his throat, I move to thrust the dagger into his side, between the ribs like the Ghost taught me. But Cardan predicts my maneuver, unfazed by the crushing force against his windpipe he catches my wrist yet again, twisting with a strength I didn't realize he had. He swings me around, my back slams against the bumpy, uneven wall of vines.

"Have you truly come to kill me, Jude?" For a moment I think his hand comes up to wrap around my neck but he pulls my face to his and then his mouth comes down onto mine, momentarily shocking me. His kiss is not gentle. It is fueled with spite, with frustration, with yearning. I blink rapidly through a feeling of unreality. And finally letting the knife slip from my hand, I relax against him, into the kiss. His hands move to twine into my stiff and tangled hair. And my mine thread into his tousle of loose curls, catching on a silver earring that dangles from the point of his ear.

We pull apart, startled at the feelings that have been reignited within us, I can see it in his eyes. Can feel it in myself. Something that began long before we ever realized. _If you're the sickness, I suppose you can't also be the cure, _I recall Cardan's words on the night he set his rooms ablaze, when I brought him to my own rooms, let him lay upon my bed. We would devour each other, consume one another.

And reaching for each other again, it seems we both don't care if we take and take until there's nothing left.

If he is the fire then I am the fuel; and if I am the fire then let him fuel me.

Suddenly the doors to Cardan's rooms burst open and four knights barge in loudly, hands on the hilt of their swords, followed by a guard who presumably stood post in the halls. At first I think it is on my account, and a cold dread spreads through my stomach at the thought of consequence.

_Let her not step one foot in Faerie or Forfeit her life_.

But then the sound of the guard's horn blares loudly from outside the palace, followed by more under the hill itself.

"Your Highness," One of the knights begins, his hooven foot scrapes over the stone floor as he comes to an abrupt stop on the opposite side of the High King's bed. His gaze falls to me and my cheeks heat. Cardan and I lay frozen in surprise, in a tangle of limbs atop his bed. Blinking away the heat of our moment, he moves off of me with a grace only royalty possess. And I sit up and adjust my clothes in front of an unwelcome audience of knights as gracefully as I can despite my embarrassment. Unfazed by what he might have interrupted, the knight continues, "Another attack. Our scouts spotted the dwellers of the Undersea on the far shores of Insmire. And Madoc with an Unseelie army."

Cardan stands, releasing a string of curses, "Assemble the Council in the war room." He looks to me, then scans the knights, "And Rannoch, escort Jude to the royal nursery. She is under my protection and not to be harmed."

Rannoch steps forward and I move to follow him. But Cardan stops me, his hands wrap over my arms tightly as he leans down to speak against my ear, "What have you done, Jude?" He whispers harshly.

I jerk back out of his grasp but he pulls me to him again and searches my widened eyes. He sighs as if it is demoralizing to admit defeat, to overlook that I have come here tonight with a blade to his throat and then expect his trust. And he speaks once more so that only I may hear, speaks the words I have dreamt to hear: "I pardon you," his grip loosens, and I sway into him, "I pardon Jude Duarte Greenbriar of exile. Let her belong in Faerie all her days, never to be banished once more."

He drops his arms and stalks past me to his wardrobe like nothing happened. Like none of any of what we just did and said happened. I will myself to mimic his casual air but I am completely shattered inside. Looking around the room, I struggle with the unreality. Rannoch is waiting by the doors, patiently in the way only knights and guards who must stand sentry in quiet halls for the entirety of a night or day are able to be. I cross the room to him, my head spinning with the knowledge of what this means.

And before I step through the doorway, I look back. Cardan is bent down, shoving into a pair of tall boots, but his dark eyes linger on mine. I'm the first to look away.


	13. Chapter 12

The Palace Under the Hill is alive despite the hour. Pages and guards and fully armoured knights dash through the halls in a clatter of clanking weapons and stomping of heavy boots. Servants titter and gossip outside the doors of sleeping gentry, tea trays in hand to soften their master's upset of being woken.

Rannoch leads me down another hall. We pass Randalin hastily tying the sash of his robe, presumably on his way to the war room. He nearly knocks shoulders with Rannoch who unapologetically takes up most of the corridor in his armour. Randalin looks back at me as he passes, eyes wide with delayed realization before narrowing in disapproval.

For a moment I can't help but think this _is_ all because of me. Orlagh had mentioned not wanting to incite war with Cardan. Which means Madoc must've been the one to convince her. He must have exhausted all of his options to be making bargains with her.

But all of that fades away when I am finally reunited with Auron and Virion. I receive odd looks but no one halts or questions Rannoch, he simply relays the High King's orders to the guard standing watch outside the nursery and receives a nod.

The nursery room is deep within the palace down a corridor with only two other doors at the end; presumably a room for a nursemaid and a servant. Or maybe a new mother who would want to take a room closer to her child. I imagine, if things would've been different I would've taken one of the rooms beside the nursery, to stay close as my children grow.

Inside, the room is large and domed. The walls and ceiling are covered in bright green moss, glowing by the light of tiny sprites whom flit happily from crevice to crevice. Beneath my feet there are floorboards in place of stone, and atop them lay several wispy-soft rugs woven from cotton buds: One beside the hearth, one at the foot of a rocking chair and another, this one large and oval, in front of the cots.

My heart flutters a beat at the sight, from where I stand by the door I can just barely peer in, catching sight of a blanketed bundle. I step forward, stomach twisting in knots, but pause when a nursemaid apprehensively stands from a plush chair beside the fire. One of the twins is in her arms. She clutches my son to her chest backing away from me, looking to the knight who brought me in with incredulity, not understanding why he'd bring someone here, why he'd risk putting the princes in danger.

Crossing the room, I stop beside the cot and look down at my sleeping child, my hand flies up to cover my mouth, my gasp, my sob. He is safe, he looks content and well cared for. I can finally breathe. I turn to the nursemaid, "It is all right," I tell her in a whisper, hands in front of me in supplication, "I am their mother."

"His majesty ordered Jude Duarte be escorted to the nursery and no harm come to her," Rannoch clarifies. The nursemaid regards me, eyes widened in surprise as understanding comes to her. In the cot, the rustle of fabric and sounds of fussing break the silence, I do not know which twin I am looking at. Vivi and I always kept the boys in separate colors so as not to accidentally mix them up: Yellows and grays for Auron. And whites and greens for Virion. As children, being a twin myself, Taryn and I used to muse at the idea that Mom or Dad may have mixed us up at one point during infancy; it's how we started the game of switching places. Perhaps I have really been Taryn all this time and she the real Jude?

He lets out a cry, now having kicked out of his swaddle. He's clothed in a long gown the color of wheat, it is trimmed in lace knitting. And on the upper left of the collar a letter _V_ is embroidered in green thread, how clever. It is my son, my second born son, _Virion_. I gaze down at him with pride and adoration. His dark hair is just a bit longer and sticks up in fine and sparse wisps that curl just slightly. I watch as he fusses again, his plump fists coming up to his mouth.

I have spent many nights pouring over thoughts of who has been caring for the twins, I turn to the nursemaid, to appraise her. And looking more closely I see that she is human. Although I am not surprised. It is not easy to find a wetnurse amongst the folk. With children being so rare, there is not an overabundance of those both willing and able to serve in such a way. As well faerie infants are able to be nourished by other means, if the need be. Like the thin milky-sweet sap that bleeds from the tree of the Milkwood, or fresh morning dew and nectar suckled right from trumpet flowers. Or even...mother cats, as with Cardan.

With the boys being half-human, I can only assume the faerie remedy was not sufficient. The nursemaid is a short woman, plump, with a plentiful bosom, not young but not old. Her hair is braided into a crown on head, it is a dull brown much like mine, and she wears a palace servant's uniform. Cardan forbade glamoured human servants, which she does not appear to be, so I know she must either be here by choice or by debt. Either way seeing human servants still unnerves me; I still see the hollow eyes of those who were enslaved in Balekin's service, of the girl I tried to save but failed.

I reach into the cot and lift Virion to my chest. Breath him in. His scent is not quite the same. There are now undertones of Faerie: the moss of the nursery walls, the lavender washing soap the palace servants use to launder clothes and linens, woodsmoke, the musty scent of sprites. And he feels slightly heavier than I remember. He's noticeably grown the month we have been apart. Leaning down I press my lips to the soft, plump flesh of his cheek, his temple, the point of his ear.

Finally I look up, and to the nursemaid, she gestures to the rocking chair. And when I comply, she presses Auron into the crook of my left arm. He is asleep, bundled in warmth and satiated. I have both of my sons in my arms again. I let the tears fall freely, silently, running in rivulets down my cheeks. I blink them away as they well into my eyes blurring my vision.

How I have longed for this moment.

Virion kicks and lets out another cry; he is hungry and growing frustrated. The nursemaid steps forward hesitantly and confusion crosses her face when it is Auron I offer her to take. I smudge my newly freed hand over the wetness on my face. Then I unbutton my blouse and put Virion to my breast.

Another moment of unreality hits me. I think of the last night I was here. The night I killed Balekin. I think of how not long ago I was just a human girl, raised in Faerieland who dreamt of one day becoming a knight. Who then one day, became more than her dream. But never did she dream of this.

But what exactly is _this_?

Holding both of the twins again, Virion now content, I rock softly in the chair beside a fire that crackles in the hearth beside me. And think of new dreams. I think of Cardan's words before I left, _I pardon Jude Duarte Greenbriar..._

_Greenbriar_. He called me by his name. But am I ever to be recognized as the Queen of Faerie?


	14. Chapter 13

"Your father is relentless. I can see where you've gleaned your overambitious nature." The Bomb interrupts my reverie, my moments of now fleeting bliss. She is standing in the doorway of the nursery, her chest plated in a shield of armour and heaving laboriously. Over her nose is smudge of black: soot, or dirt, or perhaps one of the powders she uses to concoct her explosives. She looks relieved to have found me, although her eyes are bright with high alert and she hesitates in the doorway anxiously. "The High King has called on the lower courts, the tree folk, even the wild fey, but there has already been so much slaughter."

I notice the Bomb's dappled brown hand trembling as she reaches up to push a wisp of hair from her forehead. My stomach drops and I stand abruptly, placing the sleeping princes of Faerie side by side into one of the cradles. I cross the room to the Bomb so that I can speak more quietly, "I will stay here and guard the twins."

She shakes her head, "But you don't understand. Orlagh, she has demanded your presence alongside the High King. Cardan has gone to her now with Nicasia."

"She knows. She knows Cardan truly did make me queen. Madoc must have told her, must have used me to entice her to ally with him. Cardan tricked her with this pretense of a marriage to Nicasia. And I've irrevocably let Madoc down, he's grown impatient."

"Which means-"

"Madoc and Orlagh both have no use for me. And they know Cardan will not just abdicate, not like this. There will be no bargaining today." I think of Madoc at his war table, how I used to watch him when I was a little girl, moving his "little dolls"-as Taryn and I called them-around the mapboard. Positioning wooden carvings of knights in clusters here and there, a carving to represent Eldred atop the hill. I think of how sometimes he'd use the figurine of himself to topple over another, and he'd stare down at the one he felled, laying on its back atop the war table, before gathering it up into his scarred hand and tossing it into the fire.

I wonder if he made a carving of me.

I say a quiet goodbye to Auron and Virion as they sleep, leaning into the cot to kiss their warm cheeks, and the tips of their pointed ears, to sweep my fingers over the fine silky texture of their dark hair. I don't know what will happen. But at least this time I get to say goodbye.

When I reach the hall the Bomb is arranging for a knight to stand sentry in the nursery, in addition to the guard posted in the corridor. I let her lead me through the palace until we stop at my old rooms. The Bomb unlocks the doors and sets the faerie globes aglow with a whispered breath. I am surprised to find that my rooms have been kept just as I left them. _Tidier _than I had left actually. Tatterfell must have cleaned before she was dismissed due to my exile. Rifling through my wardrobe I choose a dark brown tunic, a navy doublet, and thick black trousers and toss them onto my bed. In the bath chambers, I strip out of my clothes from the night before methodically; I try not to think of what is to come. The shirt has stuck to some of the bigger wounds over my back and rips away painfully as I peel it off.

The Bomb pops her head in at my sounds of distress and taking in my injuries she immediately fills the basin with water and adds fragrant drops of tea-tree and eucalyptus oils. I wince at the cooling sting as she dabs a dampened cloth over the scrapes, but the burn of the oils sink in leaving a numbing tingle. She dresses the wounds and then passes me my clothes and leaves the bath chambers. I dress hurriedly, and run a comb through my knotted hair and work it into a braid as best as I can.

In the palace stables, the Bomb and I mount one of the few remaining steeds and head out to the northern shore. I think of the last time I did this exact thing, except with Cardan at my side, riding out to meet the Queen of the Undersea, how that ended in my exile. I try to take deep, slow breaths to calm the racing of my pulse.

So far the military has been able to mostly hold off Orlagh and Madoc's forces, confining the battle to the shoreline of Insmire. As a General's daughter, I know this to be a good strategy in war, to isolate and surround the opponent. But I also have been taught to know never to boast in war, the tables can turn quickly and unpredictably. I have been taught never to let your guard down, never to believe you are winning: That you haven't won and it isn't over until you're the last one standing. I can almost hear Madoc's words; his teachings on war and strategy read to me since childhood as bedtime stories.

The tree folk stand poised at the front lines. Massive, towering creatures that walk on gathered roots as legs and feet, thick rough bark covers their tall bodies like tree trunks, branches and leaves make up their heads with nothing but gaping holes for mouths and eyes. Limbs curve around like arms and they wield great wooden spears. And the High King's knights stand at attention behind them, plated in armour, longswords drawn. Further back at the cliffs, between the rocks and hidden behind trees and shrubbery, are faeries of all kinds: gentry fey, wild fey, pixies-their fragile wings covered in an armour of leather-imps, hobgoblins, griggs and spragans, even sprites-who flit nervously from tree to tree-have come to protect their kingdom.

And in the dip and swell of the water, the creatures of the sea mimic our formation: sharks and orcas and dolphins bob advantageously in the water, some with the merfolk upon their backs. With breastplates of seashell and swords of coral. On the sands I see Madoc's Unseelie army in his livery of red and gold. Madoc sits at the center of his redcap knights atop a silver-shod horse, his teeth are clenched and he breathes heavily. As we draw nearer, I see his face is covered in a spray of red. My stomach sickens at his hunger for this: for war and death, for power. That I was raised by someone like him; that in so many ways I am so much like him.

For all my years of training, for all that Madoc has taught me of war through his own experiences, through lessons, through books, I have never felt more unprepared for what I see now before me. What I thought I knew of war is just swordplay and childhood fantasies compared to this.

A moment of panic rises up in me as we climb down from our mounts and edge our way onto the narrow beach littered with fallen soldiers. There has been bloodshed today. And my heart sinks at the sight of the injured as they are unceremoniously dragged off to the side, leaving behind trails of blood, left to die with no one to tend to them in the chaos of the advancing battle.

The Bomb and I approach cautiously. Nightfell is drawn but I fight the urge to dive into the mayhem, offensively serving justice by my blade. To confront my father for what he has done.

In war, when a leader from one side requests an audience with the leader or representative of the opposing side then a parley should be honored. I am dismayed that is not what I find here today despite my being called to appear before the Queen of the Undersea at the High King's side. And I am deeply troubled as I come closer to where I believe Cardan to be by the higher rank of military I find. I climb up a part of the bluff to peer out at the water. Cardan stands in the middle of the sea on newly formed rock like a bridge that brings him to Orlagh in the water's depths. He wears a heavy black cloak of velvet, embroidered in the Greenbriar crest-a tree and its roots within a crown-in gold thread which covers his back. The sun shimmers off the gold of his crown on his brow. He looks regal and powerful as he brings his hands up before him, drawing forth from the earth beneath the sea another formation of black rock in which he advances upon. Advances toward where Orlagh awaits in the waters, Nicasia at her side. And to what appear to be hundreds of selkie knights surround them.

I scramble closer until I am able to hear the words in which they exchange. The wind whips my braid fiercely over my face and salt-spray immediately coats my lips. But it carries Orlagh's voice. Orlagh speaks heatedly, her voice rough with seething rage, she shouts, "And where is your mortal queen, with whom you have made a fool of us all? This here, the king of fools, has broken our treaty and has brought war upon us." Orlagh turns to her military and declares, "Bring me the mortal, so that I may end her already short life. End it slowly and painfully while her lover is forced to watch. Only then I may choose to forget our transgressions, and an alliance may proceed upon your marriage to my daughter as was agreed."

Once again I watch as Cardan brings his hands up above him as if lifting an impossible weight. His cloak lashes behind him by the forceful gusts. Selkies and merfolk shriek as the water bubbles beneath them and great fiery plumes of molten rock rise to the surface. The rock hisses and steams as it meets the cold waters, forming a barrier that push back Orlagh's forces. Through clenched teeth he shouts, "Has it not been spoken, that I will not stand to be threatened by you again? Do you truly stand here and try me, Sea Witch? Our treaty is honored. We agreed that Nicasia and I _would_ marry." Cardan then drops his arms and walks casually to the water's edge on the still smoldering surface of hardening rock. He crouches down on his long legs to trail a hand through the lapping waves and levels his gaze with Orlagh's. "But it was your especially avaricious oversight that I never specified if I _could_ marry. And _that_ is no fault of mine."

I bite my lip to hold back a smile at the look of humiliation on Orlagh's face. The Queen of the Undersea is centuries older than the boy-king who dares to mock her now. Ready to prey on Orlagh's defeat, I move with the intention to stride up beside Cardan. But Orlagh screeches with a fury of ancient power and with her the sea swells into a menacing wave. She rises upon it on the back of a great white shark, its rows of razor sharp teeth visible as it gnashes at the water anticipating flesh. The wave crashes down, inadvertently flooding over the shores, pulling down Elfhame's knights, tree folk, and faerie folk fighting valiantly on the sands.

Up higher, on the bluff that Cardan called forth from the earth, Orlagh lands on newly formed legs, an opalescent scepter with a piercingly sharp tip poised at Cardan, "No matter, young king. I have been given a new proposition. Interestingly enough, despite the massacre of the Greenbriars that began by your traitorous brother Balekin, there are still Greenbriars to spare."

Orlagh rushes at Cardan in three long inhuman strides, but the scepter precedes her. Nicasia screams, a glint of metal shining in her grasp. In the tense disorder I had not noticed her come ashore. The rock beneath my feet shakes and cracks, roots climb over the surface from the forest behind me, snaking over my feet, splitting off large chunks of the rock. They crash into the water below and I struggle to stay standing and fall to my hands and knees. When I look up again I see Cardan collapse to his knees, a hand crossed over his chest and another bracing himself against the ground. His head is bowed and his chest rises and falls heavily. My heart drops to my stomach and I hear myself cry out. I scramble up the bluff to reach him, using the roots as leverage.

At the top I pause at what I see.

The Queen of the Undersea lies on her stomach in a small pool of seawater formed within a crevice of the bluff. Nicasia kneels over her, her hand still gripping the hilt of a dagger. She's trembling with shock, body wracked with heavy sobs, staring down at the river of red that runs from her mother. Nicasia has killed the ancient Queen of the Undersea. She has killed her own mother defending Cardan.

She looks up at me, through me, her pupils are blown to where her eyes appear black and glossy with tears, she turns to Cardan and sobs, "I-I didn't...I didn't want to kill her. I didn't _want _this." She drops her head into her hands but is then horrified at the blood that covers them. She stares down at them in utter disbelief and then looks back up at me again, her eyes now simmering with rage, her lip curling in disgust, "You! This is all because of you! Look what you have caused. You should never have come back. You don't belong here!" She stands unsteadily, her hair a tangled mess around her head. In the water, the selkie knights and the merfolk hesitate and shift uneasily. One of the knights rides a wave up onto the bluff, he crouches down beside his felled queen and then turns and kneels before Nicasia. Her eyes widen with a horrified realization, she stumbles back from him.

From the corner of my eye I see a blur of movement, a shine of metal. Madoc crests the bluff, he takes in the scene before him. His wild eyes fall to Cardan, on his knees and unguarded. With Nightfell drawn I run over the wet and slippery rock as Madoc approaches. "Cardan!" I shout, forgoing formalities and using the High King's name.

Cardan turns to me, sees me running with a drawn sword, sees my attention focused behind him. Swiftly he turns around just as Madoc plunges his blade down dishonorably. I think of my mother then, how Madoc murdered her in much the same way, with a blade to her back. I think of the night he killed Prince Dain. I hate that I ever looked up to him. I hate that he is all I have had to call a father.

Cardan springs up to meet Madoc, whose arms hold his sword high. In the blur of his bloodsoaked mayhem, he's neglected to foresee one of the most imperative rules of fighting, one that he never failed to remind me: _A sword is a weapon of war, a dagger is a weapon of murder_. Cardan reveals a short blade I never knew him to carry, in which he thrusts under the flank of Madoc's armour.

Reflexively I squeeze my eyes shut at the impact. I know Cardan is no murderer, he would never want this, any of this. But Madoc is only momentarily stunned. The arc of his sword clangs loudly against rock as it misses its mark. He rebalances his faltering step and moves to lift the sword again.

I know what I must do.

Taking the hilt of my sword into both of my hands I face my father. His eyes are menacing, drunk with bloodlust and he laughs as his blade slams down on mine. The impact reverberates into my hands and I lose my grip at the pain. Madoc uses his blade to flick my mine up from the ground just as I tighten my grasp on the hilt. I correct my stance but he's put me into a position of defense, I struggle to deflect punishing blow after blow. My hands begin to numb from absorbing impact upon impact. Becoming slick with blood as my wounds are reopened.

I know I am no match for him. But I fight for Cardan, for Elfhame, for my home and for my sons. With Madoc backed up to the edge of the bluff, I duck low, narrowly escaping a killing swing of his blade and seize an opportunity. I drive Nightfell's blade deep into his side, right where blood already mars the silver flank of his breastplate, right into the wound already given by Cardan. When I heave my sword back, our eyes lock and he staggers over the cliff's edge.

Shouts are heard from down on the shore. And the clashing of metal on metal grows nearer. A swarm of Elfhame's knights crest the bluff, waterlogged and drenched from having been swept away by Orlagh's crushing wave. They rush to protect their king, to surround him. Paling at the sight of Orlagh atop the rock, their steps falter, awkward and heavy in their chainmail and armour. And realizing there is no longer threat, they turn to me, unsure who is to blame for their injured king.

Ignoring their threatening stance, I shoulder my way past and run to Cardan's side. Drop to my knees beside him, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. And desperately I push aside his cloak, he is wearing all black making it impossible to see where he is injured. And his clothes are wet from being dragged over the small pools of seawater by the knights. But I recall the harrowing moment he fell to his knees, he had clutched his chest. I take up a fistful of the material of his shirt in both hands and tear it open. Immediately I see blood. And my head spins at the red pouring from just below his collar bone. I look up at Cardan with panic. He is watching me with an incoherently bemused expression that I know is not good. Quickly I gather up the ends of Cardan's velvet cloak and press it against his wound, forcing him to his back atop the rough, damp surface of the rock. He responds with a startled and incredulous laugh.

Over the roaring of the sea, the spray of the water, the whip of the wind and shouting and clanging, I strain my voice, bending low to his ear, I behest, "Cardan, they are still fighting down below. Nicasia is too shaken to realize she commands her mother's forces now. Call them _off_."

Cardan's eyes rove drowsily in Nicasia's direction. Nicasia hasn't moved, she is still sitting an awkward distance from her mother's body, staring out at nothing. He looks back to me, face pale and eyes shadowed, "As queen, you can make your own commands in my stead, as it is clear I am not currently fit to do so." And his eyes flutter shut, I shake him and shout his name, but he only blinks, too weak to stay awake.

Running over to Nicasia I grab her by the shoulders. But a selkie knight pulls me back roughly with cold and slippery webbed hands. "Nicasia," I try instead. "Call off the war. Tell your people to cease fighting." But it's no use. Nicasia is in shock, she looks up at me like she has never seen me before.

_And were you queen, you wouldn't need my obedience. You could issue all your own orders, _I hear Cardan's words the night we made our vows. I have been given my pardon, I can now be recognized as the Queen of Faerie. Standing to my feet I look out over the scene before me in disbelief and take a deep breath and raise my voice, "The Queen of the Undersea is dead, the High King has been felled. As your _queen_ I command you to cease fighting."

In the distance the guard's horn trumpets, it echoes off the bluffs and reverberates over the sea. The fighting stops. The merfolk and creatures of the sea immediately begin to retreat by command of their general. Madoc's knights and redcaps and Unseelie warriors gather up their weapons and move the forest's edge, stooping down to check on their injured commarades. And all of those who have come to fight for Elfhame turn to me, looking down at them from the bluff's edge. For a moment, I worry I will be mocked as before. But instead every knee bends before me.

I no longer feel the unreality of it all.

Not long ago I was just a human girl, raised in Faerieland who dreamt of one day becoming a knight. Who then one day, became more than her dream. And then she dreamt a new dream. And that dream came to be.

I am Jude Duarte Greenbriar. And I am the Queen of Faerie.


	15. Epilogue

_Sixteen years later…_

"Virion, have you seen your brother?" I burst into my second born son's rooms in the upper level of the palace under the hill. He prefers this part of the palace, favoring the way the sun streams in gently from the small panes of glass in the domed ceiling. It's warmer than down further into the hill. And it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the bright natural sunlight, causing me to squint up at him.

Virion is huddled onto a high ledge near the ceiling, right beneath one of the curved oval shaped windows. The panes are leaded in patterns of roots spreading out beneath a tree: a depiction of the Greenbriar crest. One of his gangly legs hangs freely from the ledge, swaying back and forth. A book rests in his lap. A book from the mortal world-a gift from Vivienne, his aunt. Virion is rarely seen without a book in his hands, or in his face when he doesn't feel like talking.

He yawns, methodically placing a black feather into the book to mark his page before closing it and grins down at me lazily, "Of which one is it that you inquire of, mother?"

With a sigh of frustration I reply, "You know very well who I am looking for. Auron didn't appear to be dressed and the ceremony starts at sundown-which is soon. So, will you please come down from there, your clothes will wrinkle and where has your robe gone?"

Virion hops down, landing gracefully right before me. I step back, startled and his eyes gleam mischievously. His lithe height and build is all fey and he towers over me now. I reach out to straighten the shirt that's become bunched under his waistcoat. The dressmaker has fitted him into an offwhite tunic and trousers and a navy waistcoat, all with trimmings of gold. I find his fine robe in a heap on the floor where's its apparently slipped carelessly from the back of a chair. He merely watches me as I pick it up and shake it out with a disapproving frown. It fastens at the throat with a silver chain, made from a pure white velvet and lined with gray rabbit's fur. It is too heavy and warm for Virion to wear just yet so I drape it back over the chair for him.

"I may know of where Auron may be at this hour, if not in his rooms asleep." Virion rasps in his newly deepened voice behind me. I turn to him, standing there in his finery, his hair dark, nearly black but not quite, especially in the sun where it shines with strands of deep, rich brown. He looks so much like his father, except for a much gentler and kinder light to him at sixteen than was Cardan. "He is always off with that pixie boy he fancies, frolicking through the Milkwood and licking the juice of everapples from each other's fingers-"

I hold a hand up and Virion laughs, deep and husky, he thrives on goading me, "Are you quite done? You know I do not care to hear about you and your brother's..._romantic endeavours_."

"I will find him and bring him back for you."

Virion starts past me but eyeing his fine clothes, I stop him with a sigh, "Better not in those clothes. They won't survive the Milkwood. But if you could find your cousin for me-"

"Again, which one?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a long slow breath, "_Eva_. Of course. The others are too young to rely on, you know that. She's arrived early, I passed her by in the grand hall, plucking at a lyre with that mortal flutist boy. Will you send her after Auron? He'll listen to her. And I have something I need to attend to before the ceremony." I lean onto the tips of my toes and press a kiss onto Virion's cheek before turning to go.

In Elfhame, when an heir comes of age, they are crowned _Heir Apparent. _Any and all of the King's children by age sixteen will be the _Crown Prince _or _Crown Princess _as the King or Queen chooses their successor rather than a successor defaulting to birth order. And of course birth order should become necessary were the King or Queen's life to end suddenly before the time of choosing.

Auron and Virion have just recently come of age. And today they will become the Crown Princes of Elfhame. The ceremony will begin with a formal banquet at sunset, with all of Elfhame to attend. Followed by the crowning and then of course music and dancing and drinking. Which then will inevitably lead to cavorting and wild debauches.

Auron and Virion are very much looking forward to tonight. To gaining the higher respect of their new title. With it, they will now be given a seat at the Council and allowed a say. And should they choose, they may also join into knighthood. Or form their formal circle.

Auron wants for the latter. To have his specific grouping of friends and himself receive the official title of the _Circle of Foxes_. I find it fitting. He confided in me that he is going to ask Cardan to grant him Hollow Hall. My heart sank when he told me this, I am loathe to let him go. Although, he wouldn't be too far.

Out of all of my children, Auron most reminds me of Cardan. He has always been drawn to moods and trouble. But he is free spirited and thrives on the unrestraint outside of Court. He favors the wild freedom of the outdoors; often found barefoot in the forest or the gardens. He spends his days wading into the sea or sitting at the bank of the river surrounded by his friends; baskets filled with faerie wines, bread and cheese. Weaving flowers or shells or feathers into each other's hair, dancing and drinking and falling down laughing around bonfires on sandy beaches. And oftentimes stumbling home at daylight partially dressed and with traces of golden nevermore staining his lips.

I sneak out to the stables through the kitchens and borrow a groom's cloak which was hung on a peg and not in current use anyway. I refuse one of the finer steeds offered to me, requesting a toad instead. The groom's eyebrows shoot up as I gesture into its stall where it munches lazily on random insects repetitively captured by its massive black tongue. But the groom complies with a bow and doesn't question or try to dissuade me.

I chose the toad, and the groom's dull brown cloak-made scratchy by the short, coarse hair of the horses-because I am attempting at being inconspicuous.

And because I know what I am about to do is probably a really stupid idea but I don't want anyone to stop me.

I ride on to Insweal anyway.

In my sixteen years as queen, I have only been to the Tower of Forgetting maybe a handful of times. And that is where I find myself now: At the top of the tower, out of breath from the ride and then the tedious climb, and peering into a cell that consumes an entire level to itself, "Hello, father."

Madoc lounges in his immaculately decorated and well furnished cell, despite the environment. He sits on a plush velvet chair in a loose shirt and trousers, his booted feet rest on a low stool which sits atop a thick wolf's pelt. A knit blanket is spread across his lap, I recognize it as Oriana's handiwork and for a moment I wonder how often she visits her husband, if at all. The iron-barred window is shuttered against the cold and the wind, and he has the privilege of a lantern and several pillar candles that no other prisoner has.

I did not grant him these luxuries and I narrow my eyes at the thought of him still having sway even behind these cold-iron bars, even despite his treason. That it appears he feels entitled being the father of the queen.

Madoc makes a show of subservience. Rising to his feet and dipping into a bow, he greets me, "My _Queen._"

"Your grandsons have come of age." I begin slowly. Madoc straightens back up and regards me from behind the bars of his cell, his eyes linger on the circlet at my brow. "I know sixteen years is nothing if not short in Faerie...but I wonder if your time here in solitude, in filth has perhaps tempered you yet?"

"You would have me in chains before the entire Court? In front of my grandchildren? I think not. I would rather bide my time in here, until your frail mortal heart is ready to offer the forgiveness I already see in your eyes."

"Is there not pride to be had today? Can you no longer hunger for a power that you do not deserve when you may make claim to this royal lineage despite us not sharing blood?" I step closer to the bars, wrap my satin-gloved hands around them bringing my face closer to his in the dim lighting, "Can that not be good enough for you? Your grandchildren are _Greenbriars, _Mab's very blood runs through their veins, and I have given you six of them. You will never sit on the throne but your daughter does, one of your grandchildren will. Will you not stand beside us on the dais and be recognized as part of the royal family, will that not satiate you?"

"Sounds purely ornamental. I fail to see what is in it for me," Madoc responds with a frown.

My heart sinks and I begin to feel foolish. I already knew it was a stupid idea, contemplating giving my father a second chance after what he has done. And coming here today has only solidified any doubts.

I don't know why it is after all these years I still seek his approval. I found my place in this world he brought me into under such horrific circumstances. I thrived and I prevailed. And I guess a small part of me just wants him to be proud of me. That my own accomplishments would be enough for him, enough to let go of his fanatical ambition of unrightfully taking the throne for himself.

But it seems he is still not ready.

I get back to the palace later than I had planned. Rushing to my rooms and summoning my maid-I relieved Tatterfell of her debts to Madoc after his imprisonment, but she appealed to me soon after, desiring a paid position at the palace. I had her stationed as the _Queen's Maid_, both of us too prideful to admit we missed each other. She's fussing over me now, _tsking _at my chilled hands with a knowing look as she pulls my gown over my head and adjusts the sheer, beaded sleeves at my wrists. The gown is heavy, a coral satin skirt and bodice, thick with gold beading woven to depict a thicket of vines and roses.

I move with practiced grace over to my dressing table where Tatterfell braids my hair into my favored style of horns atop my head. And selecting a simple gold chain amongst the many fine pieces of jewelry in the wooden case atop the dressing table, I pass it to Tatterfell and watch in the mirror as she clasps it around my neck.

The doors to my rooms open and then click shut softly. I hear a _woosh_ of a cloak and Tatterfell bends into a low bow as Cardan enters my bedchambers. Our eyes meet in the mirror's reflection. Reaching out, I squeeze Tatterfell's arm gently in thanks and dismissal; she leaves silently.

Cardan strides up beside me, brushes a long-fingered hand over the chain at my throat, before reaching over me to pick up my crown. Our eyes meet in the mirror again. And I watch his reflection as he places the crown over my temple, "I found it rather amusing to hear report that you rode off in disguise today. Upon one of the toads no less. I am loathe to ask."

I stand, but I will never match his faerie height. Turning into him, I rest my head against his chest, "Then don't." I smile against the rough fabric of his high-collared coat and then step back to admire his fine clothes. His trousers are the color of fawn fur, with a wide band of gold running down the length of the outer seams, and tucked into tall leather boots beneath his knees. His coat is long and fitted, the collar high and jagged, with intricate patterns of shimmering gold applique over the black wool fabric. And his shoulders are draped in a cloak of thick red velvet and white rabbit's fur. He looks every bit the High King of Elfhame despite the lasting youth of his face. _The Young King_ as he is affectionately called by the lower courts.

There is a knock at the door, the herald come to announce us at the start of the banquet. Cardan holds his hand out for me to take, "Come. Tonight we honor our eldest two sons." His eyes are alight and no longer has his smile been cruel. The two of us coming together has brought him happiness. A happiness that he truly deserves.

In which we both deserve.

_-Fin_


	16. Deleted Epilogue Scene

_On the Night of the crowning ceremony_

Cardan lounges onto the bed, back against the pillows, spreading out languorously. And his eyes alight with mischievous charm, "Its been some time since we've...been _alone_ in these rooms. Was it the night we made our young, Serith? Perhaps we can try our luck here again and fill your womb with another beautiful daughter?"

Crossing the room, I perch myself beside him. Already the gown's bodice is constricting, it digs in uncomfortably. I fix Cardan a stare, "I'm still not ready to carry another child, Cardan. Just because I am able to, does not mean I must. We've spoke of this before."

"We have, forgive me. It is only that I have begun to miss there being a wailing infant that needs coddling."

"Serith is only two. And she wails plenty still."

Cardan leans forward, dips his head into the crook of my neck and kisses me there, "You know of what I speak. Those quiet moments with an ever sleeping newborn in your arms, a tiny and fragile bundle of life at your mercy. Your own precious child."

I lean into him, twine my hand into his. I can't help but think that Cardan is filling a hole with his longing for children. Righting a wrong. That in some way he is replacing his brothers and sisters who were brutally murdered in front of him. But a part of me knows that perhaps it is more to do simply with love, with family. Despite the love Cardan may have had for his brothers and sisters and his father, he was raised in the absence of warmth. Of acceptance. Of a loving mother. And now he has learned that he can create his own. He can fill these palace walls with love and laughter and comfort. _Family. _

Between myself and Taryn, we have brought ten children into Elfhame. Two and a half years after the twins, our first daughter Elia was born, her name was chosen to honor Cardan's eldest sister, Elowyn. And only three years after her, another set of twin boys, Elduin and Thallan.

After which, I began to feel that if Cardan were to merely _look_ at me I'd become pregnant again. I sought out Vivi's help, turning to mortal remedies that I typically shied from. Although there was a time not long ago when I didn't realize I had run out of the clever little yellow pills, and didn't see Vivi soon enough, that's when our little Serith came to us.

It is much the same for Taryn. Not long after Orlagh's war, she bore her first, Eva. Who is now fifteen, a beautiful and graceful girl with a soft melodic voice and fine, copper hair. Being so close in age to Auron and Virion, the three have been nearly inseparable as they've grown. It wasn't until after Taryn's fourth child that she came to me with her fear of childbearing in Faerie where our years are not the same as in the mortal world; where we have not yet aged since we reached adulthood.

I don't know what that means for Taryn and I. Nicasia and Valerian used to sneer in our faces of our mortality. But I think of Val Moren, how he appears young in his many, many years of residing in Elfhame.

Perhaps Taryn and I _are _immortal but only in Faerie. I should never want to find out by stepping foot in the mortal world. I have nightmares that I'd wither and die as soon as I stepped between the shadows of the two worlds. But despite our years being drawn out here, we both seem to remain very much mortal in the way of fertility. And pregnancy and birth and suckling infants, while having their own fondness, are hard on our bodies, tiring. So for now, my twin and I will take our little mortal pills and continue to enjoy our intimacies while being in control of our bearing.


	17. Bonus Jurdan Scene

_After the War_

I enter into the High King's apartments behind a servant whose complexion is the color of dark ivy leaves, he carries a silver tray which holds a steaming teapot, bread, cheese and a variety of fruit.

It has only been a few days since the war. And I feel awkward being back _here. _Cardan has been confined to his rooms, under the care of a healer for the injury given him in battle. The first night he was put under a sleeping draught. He slept for two days thereafter until the draught finally ran its course. And not quite knowing what to do with myself as we waited for the outcome of the High King's fate, and also not wanting to inadvertently get in the way, I've stayed mostly to myself.

Until tonight, when Cardan immediately upon waking, requested my presence.

Cardan rests atop his tapestry covered bed, propped against several pillows, in a loose frilled shirt, and loose breeches. His feet are bare, legs crossed at the ankles, hands in his lap, fiddling with the fringed edge of a knit throw. He doesn't pay the servant any mind as the tea service is set on a bedside table, instead his eyes are on mine.

The servant leaves with an unacknowledged bow, the doors softly closing behind him.

And then it's just us. The air around us begins to feel heavy with this unseen tension that we both know is between us.

Something in Cardan's eyes shifts, a flicker of hurt, anguish, shame, as if he is warring with himself inside as he regards me in the silence. And finally he speaks, his voice low, hushed, "I wasn't there for you."

When I open my mouth to protest, his hand curls into a fist. He interrupts me, "I banished you from your _home. _You were thrown onto those filthy mortal streets like-" He grits his teeth and looks away. "Had I known-"

"And had you known _before_ you learned of our sons' birth and _took _them from me, would that have changed anything?" I challenge him, stepping around to the other side of the bed where he rests.

"I was angered," Cardan admits, "when I learned of my only surviving brother's death. No matter that he made enemies of us; He was still all the family I had left. Everyone of them _murdered. Slaughtered_. And what right did I have, the drunken cavorting fool, to be the one to take my father's throne?" He drops his gaze down to his hands, falling silent. And doesn't look back up at me when he speaks again, "But you must know I did not sentence you to exile as _punishment. _I did it to protect you, Jude. To protect the kingdom...from war."

A moment of shame heats my face, but I force the guilt away. My return may have brought the war he meant to avoid. But it was an inevitable war. My gaze falls to his shoulder, the bandaging visible beneath the collar of his shirt, the way he tethers his arm taut against his side in pain. His hair is damp, he must've bathed before I arrived, and the ends are beginning to curl around the points of his ears and at his brow.

Reaching out to sweep a thick dark lock from falling across his eyes, he catches my wrist gently and turns his face into my hand. "Stay with me," he says softly, as if sensing my intentions of leaving him to rest.

"I-you need to rest. I can see that you are in pain. Perhaps I should send for the healer, for another draught." I turn to head to the doors but he catches my hand, stopping me.

"I'm _fine. _Stay. Please."

With a sigh, I relent. Pouring him a cup of tea and insisting he drink, before settling beside him atop the coverlets. Feeling awkward in this proximity to him, this _closeness, _I think of how although Cardan and I have made vows, I am not sure of what we are _now_. Do we start where it was we left off? Or...do we start again? We have only been husband and wife, for but one night. And that was many, many nights ago.

_I have heard that for mortals, the feeling of falling in love is very like the feeling of fear..._I think of the way Balekin described his perplexion of mortal love, how he couldn't relate. I wonder how it is that Cardan feels love. How the Fey love if it truly differs from what I feel.

Finally after a long silence where I begin to fear Cardan's feelings of me, he takes my hand up into his. His long fingers and pale skin look more prominent when not bedecked in jeweled rings. "You are my queen...would that you were my wife as well?"

I know what he is asking of me. For our marriage to not be simply of political convenience, made only as a bargain to end the vow of obedience I had over him. He is asking for more. Asking if I want more as well. If I want _him. _"Yes," I say, heart racing in time with my thoughts. "Yes," I say again, sliding one knee over and settling on his lap. My hands slide into his hair, tugging just so, to angle his mouth to mine, "Yes." And I taste of him. Of nettle tea, tart plum and longing as his tongue slips over mine.

I move against him when his mouth wanders to my throat leaving marks that will be nearly impossible to hide. But I wouldn't dare stop him from touching me like this. Marks or not. I'll stay right here tangled up in this bed with him and not leave until they've faded away, however many days that may be. Or perhaps I'll sit upon my throne and attend Court for all to see how Cardan's hands have been on me. In this moment I couldn't care less.

Somehow we've managed to lose both of our shirts and my breeches and have cloaked ourselves in the throw atop his bed. Our hands searching every inch of what has been exposed. But I pause over Cardan's bandagings, sobering, "Does it hurt?"

"Not right now, it doesn't," Cardan replies in a strained whisper into the crook of my neck. He shifts awkwardly beneath me and a coy smile plays on his lips when pulls back to look at me. Returning his smile, I reach down between us, eyes locked with his, and pull on the lacing of his waistband. Cardan drops his head back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut in frustration, "What I would do to you if not for this wound."

But I silence him with a kiss. Feel the rumble of a moan in his chest beneath my hands when my tongue brushes over his. When his hands slip to my waist and guide me onto him. And my when my nails threaten to pierce his flesh at the rhythm I find. And I breathe his name again and again; a plea, a promise, a litany.


	18. Acknowledgements

Thank you Holly Black for creating this incredible, cruel and beautiful world. For creating a cast of characters I fell absolutely in love with from the first pages. For breathing life into Cardan. And Jude. These characters will forever hold precedence in my heart. The Folk of the Air series has changed me. I will never be the same person again. And I hope that it is okay with you that I borrowed your characters, your story, but I just needed more. I didn't want this world you created to end. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I never will be.

Huge thanks to my beta readers, who I found on GoodReads through our mutual obsession in this amazing fandom! Especially, Diamond who became my first ever critique partner, who let me send my odd ramblings and ideas in weird emails, and for bouncing ideas back and forth with me when I got stuck or went down a weird path (the rabbit hole of faerie fertility hahaha). I'd never been critiqued before and at first I almost cried (not really but...really) and then I decided to be a big girl about it and can now handle some light constructive criticisms. You have prepared me for the big dogs one day-Oh my fragile heart!

I have to give a shout out to for naming my OC characters! My sweet, smol Fey twin boys, Auron and Virion came to life because of this creative and very thorough website. I will definitely always look here in the future for amazingly fantastical fantasy names!

And many thanks to GwynhwyfarAbbot, you were my biggest fan and encourager from the first day of publishing to Wattpad. It was your comments and enthusiasm alone that motivated me most!

And thank you to everyone else on Wattpad and for reading, for your comments and your votes! Keep commenting and keep voting! It's the best thing you can do for a writer!

-Mara XOXO (Maybe I will be back after Queen of Nothing. But I hope I am content with how Holly Black ends the Folk of the Air.)


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